


i don't need drugs when your lips are like poppies

by HolisticObsessor (Talraven)



Series: The Fundamental Interconnectedness of Everything [3]
Category: Dirk Gently's Holistic Detective Agency (TV 2016), Torchwood
Genre: AU from season 2 onwards, Angst, I forgot to add angst wth, Implied/Referenced Underage Sex, M/M, Norton Folgate's POV, Norton Folgate's sass, OCs - Blackwing Projects, PTSD, Psychic Abilities, Suicidal thoughts and actions, Torchwood Crossover, Violence, also needs its own tag
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-18
Updated: 2018-11-08
Packaged: 2019-06-29 03:44:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 18
Words: 141,976
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15721311
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Talraven/pseuds/HolisticObsessor
Summary: On the run from what's left of Torchwood, Norton Folgate accidentally spatially dislocates himself into Blackwing's compound in 2017.Just his luck, he looksexactlylike someone they're looking for, and ends up getting involved in their holistic mess. Also his luck that he has a thing for sociopathic psychos with a penchant for violence.Andthe apparently 'not-psychic' man with two names that Blackwing is after.At the same bloody time.Norton supposes it's still better than living through the 50's.





	1. Definitely Torchwood level of weird.

Norton had spent a majority of his youth dedicating his life to Torchwood - or the likes of which, anyhow - spending almost every day of being an agent getting shot at, chased down dirty gutter streets, and occasionally bumped through space and time at the whims of his paymasters with nary a clue on what he should be expecting to experience.

He is, therefore, quite astonished that there are still certain events that occur in his life which manage to render him speechless and catch him completely off-guard.

Getting kidnapped and interrogated by a defunct CIA program in the States, for example. In _2017_.

“For the last, bloody _time_ , my name is Norton Folgate, and I have no _sodding_ idea who in the utter _fuck_ is this _Svlad Cjelli_ that you’re looking for!” Norton shrills, wincing as the action pulls at the bruises that are forming on the corners of his lips, courtesy of the stupid blonde nightmare with the scar down the middle of his face.

Norton’s taken to referring to him as Pissbag, seeing as he’s exactly just that, though he’s heard the man’s superior call him Priest over his earpiece.

“You know what?” Pissbag says casually, leaning back against the wall that’s facing the chair Norton’s been cuffed to. His head’s tilted to the side, and he’s eyeing Norton with an intense look on his face, like he’s seeing something there that no one else can. “I do, actually believe you, Mr. Folgate. But you see, you bear an awfully uncanny resemblance to a boy I’m looking for, and I’m very much a man of indulgence.”

Norton refrains a shudder. He’s a liar, and a traitor, and he’s not above doing various unsavoury things at the promise of money in his pockets; but Pissbag puts a Dalek to shame. There’s something sinister about his mere presence, a cold inhumane thing fleeting behind his eyes that makes Norton feel dirty just looking at. Whoever this Svlad Cjelli they think he is, Norton feels sorry for the poor sod if Pissbag ever gets his hands on him.

“Svlad’s a special boy, Mr. Folgate,” Pissbag continues, and this time his eyes run down the length of Norton’s bound figure, and Norton can’t help the shudder this time, even as he tries to plan how to use that attention to his advantage. “A dangerously special boy. There’s an easy way to prove that you aren’t him, and we’ve already done that.”

Norton scowls deeply at him, trying for false bravado. Pissbag seems like the type to like a struggle, and Norton’s nothing if not a skilled improv. “What are you still torturing _me_ for, then?” he demands. “You often get your rocks off beating on pretty young things, you prick?”

Pissbag honest to god _giggles_ , a short sequence of sharp, high-pitched squeals that shouldn’t belong to someone like him, and pushes himself off the wall, hands rising to rest on his hips.

“I like you,” Pissbag says in a matter-of-fact tone. “Torchwood, right? Worked a few cases with them, before. Too soft on the alien treatment, if you asked me.”

“Well, no one did,” Norton says, rolling his eyes. “And if you know who Torchwood is, you’d know they don’t take kindly to maltreatment of their agents.”

“They’re also always late to the rescue,” Pissbag deadpans.

_Damn_.

“Let’s make a deal, then,” Norton tries, lifting his hands as far as they can go in the restraints in a nonchalant gesture. “I help you find this Svlad boy you think looks like me, and in return, I don’t file an official complaint about the CIA’s honestly _appalling_ treatment of foreign government agents on United States soil.”

Pissbag hums thoughtfully, then giggles again. “I don’t think you fully understand your position here, Mr. Folgate,” he says, grinning. “I don’t have to negotiate anything with you.”

“You’re keeping me here against my will!” Norton says loudly, losing himself for a moment, his patience wearing thin. “Torchwood or not, that’s a crime, and you’re the bloody CIA!”

Pissbag’s response to that is interrupted by his superior saying something into his earpiece. Norton catches enough to hear the man actually considering Norton’s offer, and he can’t help the smug smile forming on his lips even as Pissbag’s face darkens with displeasure.

“Fine,” Pissbag says into the earpiece. “But if our new friend here turns out to be a holistic something or other, the deal’s off.” There was a string of expletives from the earpiece before the voice softens too much for Norton to hear much else. “I don’t know, Ken, but I suppose we’ll find out, won’t we?”

Pissbag presses something on the earpiece, presumably to turn it off, and then he smiles sinisterly down at Norton.

“You and I are going on a field trip, Mr. Folgate.”

\---

“So, what, you just go around rounding up these, what was it? _Holistic_ persons, you said? And then what do you do with them?” Norton asks incredulously from the front passenger seat of a Blackwing SUV.

Pissbag - oh, _sorry_ \- _Priest_ is driving, which had surprised Norton, except then he’d noticed the three other identical SUVs trailing behind them on the road and all thoughts of attempting to escape had flown out the window.

“I’m a Holistic Hunter,” Priest explains almost patiently, a wry smile lifting the corners of his scarred lips. “Basically, I hunt things with the help of intuition, and everything I hunt is connected to each other in the big, ole grand scheme of things.”

“Intuition,” Norton echoes in a deadpan. “Listen, poppet; I do sympathise with your,” he waves a hand vaguely at Priest’s face, “whatever, but I have to be frank with you. That sounds absolutely bloody _mental_.”

Priest giggles, shaking his head. “Got you, didn’t I?” he asks casually. “Now, if you weren’t of any relevance to Svlad, or my hunt for him, that wouldn’t have happened.”

Norton purses his lips, trying not to frown deeply. “Luck,” he declares. “It was just my bad luck I was spatially dislocated into your semi-illegal compound and it was just your good luck that travelling some sixty years into the future had left me in a vulnerable state.”

Priest giggles again, and Norton has to fight back the urge to punch the bastard. “Ain’t no such thing as luck where Blackwing’s concerned,” he says confidently. “Now, we’re exiting in 5 miles, and according to our intel, Svlad and friends are staying at a hotel some ten minutes off the freeway. I’ve got a good feeling boy’s not getting away this time.”

Norton leans back in his seat, turning to look out the window. “Seems like you hadn’t needed to do much ‘finding’ to locate the boy,” he muses out loud. “Whatever did you actually need me for?”

“Insurance,” Priest answers immediately. “Supervisor Adams likes doing things the, uh, complicated way. Svlad would be back at Blackwing by now if he’d let me do things how I normally would.”

“Surprise surprise,” Norton snorts delicately.

“You’ll see when we get to him,” Priest says, again in that overly confident tone. “Spitting image of each other. Wouldn’t be surprised if two of you are related in some way. He sees you, with us, he’ll come without a fight. Boy won’t be able to help himself.”

Norton arches a brow, shooting Priest a pointed look that the older man disappointingly misses. “Torchwood has rules against those kinds of things,” he says. “Meeting your future grandchildren and telling them things that might influence how their conception might come to be. If, on the off-chance that I am related to Svlad in some way, our meeting might cause a bump in our timelines and Svlad might cease to exist.” His tone darkens as he adds, “Or the event might split our realities and we’ll be tossed into an alternate universe altogether.”

Priest remains completely unconcerned at these facts. “Universe wouldn’t have thrown you in my lap if that were the case,” he says with a smirk, and Norton can’t help the heat that pools in his cheeks because that is exactly what had happened and he honestly does not need to be reminded of it.

“Oh, stuff it,” he says petulantly, crossing his arms over his chest.

They reach an old, red-brick building less than half an hour later. It looks worn down, the corners of it blunted and the texture of the bricks almost smoothed out, but the glass doors look shiny, brand new, and there’s a cheerful, neon sign on the top of it that seems well-maintained.

“Welcome to Nirvana?” Norton reads out skeptically, standing at the foot of the building’s steps. “Hardly a fair comparison.”

Priest is checking the magazine of his semi-auto behind him, and Norton has to actively remind himself that the man is holding him against his will, therefore the bulge of his forearms and biceps should not look as attractive as they do right now.

“Seventh floor,” Priest says. “Team waits downstairs; Svlad doesn’t get along with too many guns.”

“Yes, I believe no one does, Agent Priest,” Norton says, rolling his eyes. “They tend to _kill_.”

Priest gestures up the steps with his semi, and Norton saunters up it without further ado, deciding to get this over with as soon as possible. The entrance leads down an ornate hallway, with plush red carpeting covering the floors and terribly cheap imitations of Van Gogh paintings adorning the walls. It’s positively dreadful.

There’s a wooden counter with a single man behind it, wearing an orange monk’s robe, and his face says everything about how he feels wearing it.

“Welcome to Hotel Nirvana, is there anything I can help you with?” the man greets them in a flat tone, but then his eyes narrow and he squints at Norton. “Hey, didn’t you just go up? How’d you get down here so fast? And what happened to your _hair_ , man?”

Norton resists the urge to raise his brows, glancing instead at Priest, who simply shrugs in an unspoken show of ‘I told you so’ while casually hiding his semi behind him.

“Yes, quite,” Norton mutters, pursing his lips. He turns back to the receptionist with a smile, leaning his hands against the counter. “Actually, about that; seems like I’ve forgotten my room number. Be a dear and check that for me, would you? There’s a poppet.”

The receptionist rolls his eyes, but he does start typing away at an ancient-looking computer to his left, and Norton notices the guest file he pulls up on the screen has the name ‘Gently, Dirk’ on it instead of Svlad Cjelli.

“Number 7342,” the receptionist reads out boredly. “You lost your card again, too?”

Norton’s smile becomes genuinely pleased at that.

“That was deplorably easy,” Norton says to Priest later as they shuffle into a cramped, tiny elevator and make their way up to the seventh floor. “Is security usually this lax at hotels in the 21st century?”

Priest is checking over his semi, but shrugs in answer to Norton’s question. “Universe,” he says simply.

Norton snorts, eyeing the gun in Priest’s hands. “I sincerely hope you’re not planning on using that,” he says.

Priest grins at him. “Squeamish?” he teases.

Norton rolls his eyes. “Hardly,” he scoffs, thinking of the trail of bodies he’s left behind himself at the Committee’s beck and call. “I just don’t think it’s practical to start shooting up the building when the objective is simply to bring Svlad Cjelli in,” he continues, then, because he likes to push where he doesn’t necessarily should, he adds, “or should I say, Dirk Gently?”

Priest grins at him again. “Sharp,” he acknowledges. “Svlad is… confused, so to speak.”

Norton raises a brow at the nearly gleeful way he says that. “Torchwood has an Agent they used to keep as an experiment from the first World War,” Norton says, watching Priest closely to gauge his reaction. “Man can’t die, so you can imagine the horrible, nasty things Torchwood might’ve done to him in the name of ‘scientific research’.”

“Immortal?” Priest says, almost interestedly.

“Quite,” Norton affirms. “The Doctor’s been recorded as calling him a ‘fixed point’ in the universe; a temporal paradox that physically hurts a Timelord just by being in their vicinity. He can’t die, and that’s that.”

“Like a rock in the stream of the Universe,” Priest says.

“Except, even a rock is eroded with time,” Norton corrects. “But I digress.” Norton stares hard at Priest, trying to decide if the man is simply not phased by anything that doesn’t directly concern him, or simply does not have an ounce of humanity in him. “My point is; when government bodies chase after a man that changes his name, presumably because he does not, in point of fact, _want_ to be found, it’s usually because the said bodies have been, and excuse my candidness; _total_ and _complete_ arseholes to him in the past.”

The expression on Priest’s face remains unconcerned. “ _Are_ you an arsehole, Agent Priest?” Norton asks him.

Priest shrugs, nodding when the elevator halts and the door dings open. “Would that change anything, right now?” he asks, raising the semi and casually pointing it down the hallway outside the elevator.

Norton sighs, not deigning to respond. According to the plaque on one wall in the hallway, Svlad’s or Dirk’s room is to the west wing of the building, and Norton strides down in its direction, not bothering to check if Priest is following after him or not. The man’s heavy footfalls are palpable in the dimly-lit hallway, however, so it’s hardly a mystery.

There’s muffled banging and shouting suddenly on the other end of the hallway, the closer they get to their destination, and Norton instinctively moves a hand towards his holster under his coat, only to remember that Priest had refused to return his guns to him. Annoyed, Norton halts abruptly in the middle of the hallway and gestures at Priest.

“Well, go on, then,” he says petulantly when Priest raises a brow at him. “Sounds like something’s happening in there, and I’m _unarmed_ , remember?”

Priest rolls his eyes, bends down to pull a nasty-looking dagger from a sheath strapped to his shin, and holds it out to Norton, handle-first.

“Try that on me and it’ll end up in your spine,” Priest says casually as Norton takes the dagger from him gingerly. “Word of advice; I can’t seem to die, either.”

Norton sighs as Priest continues towards Svlad’s room, following behind him with the dagger held carefully in his hand.

The muffled sounds are louder as they stand in front of a door with a gleaming, ‘7342’ golden plate on it, and Norton stays behind Priest as the man steadies his semi in one hand and raises his other in a fist, ready to knock on the door.

Only for it to swing inwards abruptly, revealing a disheveled young man with side-swept auburn hair and innocently-large, clear blue eyes that bulge comically at the sight of Priest, and Norton needs a moment to shove down the unnerving feeling of looking into a mirror.

_Definitely Torchwood level of weird_.

“Oh dear,” the man breathes before scrambling to shove the door back closed.

He’s a split second too slow, as Priest manages to put a foot in the doorframe. The man, Svlad, or Dirk, makes a squeaky sound of alarm, and Norton hears him stumbling away as Priest kicks the door the rest of the way open.

The room is a mess. It looks pretty much like a bomb site - and Norton would know, plenty of those in Soho - and all the furniture have either been turned over or ripped to pieces.

“What in God’s name happened in here?” Norton blurts out, gaping at all the mess.

There’s the sound of a door slamming shut, and Priest giggles, crushing pieces of broken furniture in the room as he ventures deeper towards what is probably the bathroom.

“Svlad!” Priest sings out, “Little Svlad Cjelli, there’s nowhere to run!”

“Go away!” Svlad shouts back in a high-pitched, panicked voice, muffled only slightly by the bathroom door. “You’re not real, you can’t actually be here! Not right now!”

Norton raises a brow at his choice of words, looking over at Priest questioningly.

“Case-related, probably,” Priest explains unhelpfully. He steps away from the bathroom door and nods his head at it as he looks at Norton. “Svlad! I’ve brought a friend for you,” he calls out.

Svlad makes a noise that sounds akin to a cat choking on its own hairball and Norton rolls his eyes.

“Svlad?” he calls out as non-threateningly as he can. “Or Dirk? That’s your name, isn’t it, petal?”

Svlad, Dirk, makes a sound again, less choking and more leaning towards a despairing groan.

“Dirk, poppet, my name’s Norton,” Norton continues, stepping closer towards the door. “I’ve got to be honest, dear, you’ve chosen a _dreadful_ hotel to stay in.” He pauses for a moment, hoping for some sort of response, but Dirk remains stubbornly silent. “Also, not judging, but Agent Priest here is an arsehole. I’ve _no idea_ how you’ve come to meet his acquaintance, but I’ll have you know, him looking for you has put me in quite the hot water. And not the fun kind, either.”

Priest scoffs, and Norton shoots him a dirty look. “Shut up,” he hisses at the man.

“Ask him to open the door,” Priest orders.

Norton rolls his eyes again, but it’s Dirk that responds. “I can hear you, you know!” he says indignantly.

Norton yelps when Priest suddenly grabs him violently by the arm and pulls him close, pointing his semi at the ceiling and letting it go off for a bit. Norton winces at the deafening shots, elbowing Priest in the side in retaliation.

“Open the door, Svlad, or I’ll shoot him in the face,” Priest growls, and Norton huffs.

“Listen to the Agent, poppet,” Norton tells the door. “At this point, he’s likely to do it for the fun of it. And I do think my face is lovely as it is, without any bullet holes.”

There’s only silence from Dirk, and Priest is getting impatient, Norton can tell. He’s gotten all tensed against Norton’s side, and Norton can only hope the idiot gives in soon or he’s sure Priest really will shoot him. Norton tries to tug his arm out of Priest’s hold, and Priest lets him go easily, though with a warning look.

Norton’s about to berate him for the unnecessary manhandling when the door clicks and falls open slowly, and Norton spots blue eyes looking out at Priest frightfully through the narrow gap.

“Please don’t hurt anyone,” Dirk says softly, resignation screaming with every syllable.

“No one’s getting hurt,” Norton says immediately, drawing the eyes to him, and there’s a moment when it feels like something in the air electrifies, static crackling over Norton’s skin as their eyes meet and lock.

It’s not unlike the last time Norton had run into a younger version of himself while time-travelling, but it’s different, too, because Dirk _isn’t_ him, there’s no doubt about it. They look identical, sure, but Dirk is Dirk, and Norton is most definitely Norton. Dirk, however, _is_ undoubtedly connected to him in some way, and Norton doesn’t need some universal-holistic-bullshit to know it.

“Fuck _me_ ,” is all he manages to articulate.

Dirk’s gaping, now, taken aback to the point that he’s let go of the door subconsciously, allowing it to fall all the way open. He points at Norton with a trembling finger, lips trying and failing to produce words.

“You,” he manages to stammer out. “I- No, you’re _not_ me?” He looks utterly confused, and Norton’s always been aware of his good looks, but a moment of narcissism allows him to wonder if he’s always looked so fuckably adorable when he’s this clueless. “You’re _[blonde](https://www.bigfinish.com/img/release/twmr02x_goodbyepiccadilly_1417_cover_large.jpg)_!”

Norton scowls at that. “And what’s wrong with _that_?” he asks, actually offended.

Dirk flounders, hands flying everywhere as he tries to retract his words. “I, no, I didn’t- That’s not what I meant,” he babbles. “You look _lovely_ , really, I just- It’s _weird_? Is that really how I’d look?”

Priest strides forward before Norton could blink and Dirk squeaks, tripping over his own feet in his haste to run away. His fall helps him dive under Priest’s grab for him, however, and Dirk manages to scramble around until he’s standing behind Norton, hands fisted into the back of Norton’s coat as he peeks over Norton’s shoulder.

“Agent Priest,” Norton says admonishingly, shifting on his feet and for some reason feeling the strong urge to protect Dirk. “Please, there’s no need for violence, darling.”

Priest’s left brow crooks up in mild surprise and Dirk’s hold on his coat tightens. “Darling?” Dirk echoes disbelievingly into his ear and Norton sighs, forgetting that he’s in 21st century America.

“I agree, _believe_ me,” he says with a groan. “Force of habit, I’m afraid.”

“You have a habit of calling dangerous, psychopathic holistic hunters ‘darling’?” Dirk asks in the same disbelieving tone. “You should really re-evaluate your life choices, Norton.”

“Trust me, I _am_ ,” Norton mutters, more to himself than anything else, raising his hands in front of him when Priest suddenly points his semi at them. “Whoa there, poppet! Put that thing down!”

Dirk squeaks again, jerking Norton with the force he uses to hide behind him, and Priest lets loose a slew of shots that Norton just barely manages to pull Dirk and himself away from and to the side. They land in an ungraceful heap of limbs and pieces of what might have been a chair before it had been torn to pieces on the floor, and Norton grunts in pain as a particularly sharp stump of wood digs into his gut, Dirk’s arms wrapping around his waist not helping anything, either.

His vision doubles for a split second as his head bangs against the floor, and he vaguely registers the loud thump of a body landing onto the ground nearby before Priest is there, hand reaching down for Norton. Norton reaches up blindly, losing his breath as Priest swiftly pulls him to his feet, bringing Dirk up with him.

“Did you just _kill_ him!” Dirk shrieks, finally letting go of Norton in favour of looking over at Priest’s victim.

“He was about to kill _you_ ,” Priest points out, and even with the headache starting to pound away behind his eyes, Norton can clearly see the gun clutched in a now-dead man’s hand.

“We should leave,” Norton manages to grind out, one hand flying out to grab onto something for support when his vision fails him. He catches someone’s jacket, realises it’s Dirk when the man’s voice gets louder by his ear.

“That doesn’t mean you should _kill him back_!” Dirk is protesting, sounding anguished, but Norton feels his hands moving to grab onto Norton’s waist, one of his arms wrapping around Norton’s shoulders and letting him lean into his side. “Oof, you’re heavy,” Dirk says when they both almost lose their footing.

Norton smacks his arm weakly. “Rude,” he says. “I think I’m about to pass out,” he adds. “In case that becomes important later.”

The last thing he hears before he blacks out is Dirk making an oddly cute, alarmed squeak and Priest muttering expletives.


	2. Hello, Svlad.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please bear in mind that I don't know how the detailed mechanics of a heart monitor actually work, thus, let's pretend what Priest does here makes sense. Yes? Alright. Thanks.

Norton wakes up in what seems to be an infirmary.

He’s in a bed, hooked up to an IV drip and a heart rate monitor, and there’s an oxygen mask on his face. He’s dreadfully parched, but when he tries to reach up to remove the mask, he finds that his hands have been chained to the bed railings on either side.

“Fuck,” he rasps out, but there’s a button in his left hand, and he presses on it repeatedly with growing frustration.

Priest comes through the one door in the room a few minutes later, followed by a young nurse in Blackwing’s uniform.

“Is this really necessary?” Norton snaps in a scratchy voice, rattling the chains keeping him bound as the nurse fusses around his bed, unhooking the IV and the heart monitor and the oxygen mask. “Fetch me some water, please, there’s a doll,” Norton tells her, and she nods jerkily before rushing out of the room.

“You were stabbed,” Priest tells him, standing by the bed with his arms crossed over his chest. “By a leg chair.”

Norton winces, glancing down at his body. He’s topless, so the bandages are clear as day, stained slightly from blood seeping through. Sure enough, it’s coming from where he’d felt the pain during his and Dirk’s fall.

“Thanks to you,” Norton snaps at Priest, breaking out into a fit of coughs as the action agitates his dry throat.

The nurse comes back in that moment, helps Norton greedily gulp down a glass of warm water and leaves almost just as quickly. Norton doesn’t waste any time turning on Priest once the door closes behind her.

“Get these off me right now, or so help me, I’ll gut you in the balls the second I’m back on my feet,” Norton snarls at him.

Priest rolls his eyes, but he reaches into his pocket and pulls out the keys to the cuffs. “You were delirious,” he says calmly as he unlocks each of the cuffs, one at a time. “Kept attacking the doctors and screaming something about a committee.”

Norton ignores the clench in his chest at the mention of his ex-masters, focuses instead on the indignation he feels from being handled by this man that - although is very attractive indeed - is a bona fide sociopathic psycho while he was completely unaware.

 _Vulnerable_.

“I’m sure you’d be screaming as well if you were tittering on the verge of _death by leg chair_ , poppet,” Norton says scathingly, rubbing at his wrists where the handcuffs had dug into his skin. “Perhaps next time you should try it yourself, see how well you’d take it.”

Priest raises a brow at him, clearly amused. “Next time?” he asks.

Norton flushes, anger curling in his gut at how this man can so easily throw him off balance. “Shut up, it’s a figure of speech,” he replies defensively. And because this is definitely not steering in a direction Norton wants to go down with the man - not in his present state, anyway - he quickly changes the subject. “Where’s Dirk?” he asks.

Priest snorts. “Svlad,” he corrects him. “You’ve been out for three days. Boy’s been doing tests.”

Norton’s eyes narrow at the way he says that. “What kind of tests?” he asks suspiciously.

“Nothing Torchwood level of heinous,” Priest replies. “Just something to put him back in the right mindset.”

“And exactly what kind of mindset would that be?”

Priest sighs through his nose, clearly showing his displeasure at being questioned. “Svlad is special,” he starts, and Norton waves his hand at him dismissively.

“Yes, yes,” he says impatiently. “So you’ve mentioned. What does that _mean_ , exactly?”

Priest glares at his interruption, but deigns to answer him. “Blackwing coined the term ‘holistic’ back in the day,” Priest continues. “When they first started noticing patterns around the psychics they found.”

“Psychics?” Norton asks. “Dirk is psychic?”

Priest glares again. “In a way,” he allows. “Holistic psychics are connected to each other in an intrinsic web of fate and chance. Normal psychics don’t usually affect the world around them, not without trying pretty damn hard. But holistics, we tend to kick-start significant events in the Universe. Usually without even trying.”

Norton frowns at the explanation, and Priest sighs before moving to the heart monitor in the corner.

“Take this machine,” he starts, fingers wrapping around the cable connected to the sensor. “Without a pulse, it’s practically broken. Doesn’t make a peep. That’s what you would consider a normal human to the Universe.” Norton watches curiously as Priest clips it onto his finger, and the monitor lights up, lines appearing on the screen as it starts beeping steadily. “Attached to a pulse, it starts detecting life, showing some kind of activity; a normal psychic.” Priest holds up his finger, the one with the sensor, and Norton scowls as the machine’s beeping starts becoming frantic, like his heart was having an attack or something.

“This is what a holistic psychic is,” Priest says calmly as the machine suddenly flatlines and shorts itself, and smoke starts rising from the now-dead monitor.

Almost on cue, the door bursts open, and Norton stares wide-eyed as a black man barges in, looking alarmed.

“What did you do?” he demands, eyes locking on Priest who simply unclips the sensor and tosses it to the side.

“You said you wanted to speak to Mr. Folgate,” he says simply, but he’s looking at Norton, smugness radiating from his every pore.

The newcomer looks confused for a moment, but he collects himself almost immediately when he realizes that Norton is staring at him, his face becoming carefully blank.

“Mr. Folgate,” he says coolly. “I’m glad to see you’ve finally returned to the land of the living.”

Norton glances over at Priest, notes his demeanour and promptly decides to ignore the pissbag.

“You’re Supervisor Adams, yes?” Norton asks the newcomer. “I want to see Dirk,” he demands, sitting up straight on the bed, bravely holding back a wince as his wound protests at the action.

Supervisor Adams smiles insincerely at him, eyeing the bloody bandages around his waist. “I’m afraid _Svlad_ is undergoing some important tests at the moment,” he says, emphasizing on Dirk’s name with a hint of distaste. “It’s best to keep external contact at the minimum. For now, that is.”

“Sounds inhumane,” Norton sniffs. “Are you charging me with something, then?”

“Well, you did break into a top-secret, government compound,” Adams starts.

“Not on purpose,” Norton interrupts him. “I _wanted_ to leave, in case you’ve forgotten.”

“Right,” Adams says, pursing his lips. “Well, at any rate, you’re not a prisoner here, and seeing as Agent Priest vouches for your affiliation with Torchwood, you’re free to go once you feel up to it.”

Norton’s shock must show clearly on his face, because Adams smiles at him, clearly amused. “You’re not holistic,” he explains. “And honestly speaking? Keeping you here when you obviously don’t want to be here is a waste of our funding.”

“Uh-huh,” Norton says blankly, at a loss for words. He’d been expecting more of a fight, but clearly Adams has his priorities right. But it does leave one thing…

“I still want to see Dirk,” Norton says, rolling his eyes when Adams frowns. “Svlad,” Norton relents. “He’s connected to me, in some way, and I’d like to know how. Peace of mind and all.”

Adams’ frown deepens, if that’s possible, and to Norton’s surprise, it’s Priest that speaks up for him.

“You wanted Svlad’s cooperation,” Priest says. “Folgate could be useful. Let him speak to the boy, couple of playdates every week. Make the boy trust him.”

“And then what?” Adams says, visibly irritated. “Folgate helps him escape? Didn’t we agree it’s dangerous for Svlad to have friends?”

Priest shrugs. “Folgate’s an Agent,” he says easily. “He’s trained.” Priest looks over at Norton calculatively. “Pay him enough and he’ll do whatever needs to be done.”

Norton huffs, but doesn’t deny what Priest is saying. It irks something terrible, however, that Priest has got him down to a ‘T’. It’s utterly unfair, especially when Norton still hasn’t been able to read the man himself.

“Is that so?” Adams says, this time to Norton.

Norton shrugs in response. “I just want to know who he is,” he says simply. “Why he has _my face_.”

Adams considers his words silently for a long moment, then to Norton’s relief, he smiles.

“Would you be interested in joining Blackwing, Agent Folgate?” Adams asks.

\---

Norton spends two weeks on bedrest. Blackwing doctors tell him he’s lucky the stab had missed any vital organs, but Norton hardly _feels_ lucky when anything beyond sitting up sends sharp pangs of throbbing pain through his abdomen. Still, it’s two weeks of morphine - the good kind, too, almost as good as alien drugs - and Priest occasionally hanging about his room, explaining the whole ‘holistic’ thing to him.

Norton still doesn’t quite get it; from what he understands, it’s a lot of fantastical, nigh-on magical bullshit, but Norton doesn’t question it much. It’s not like Torchwood hadn’t had its fair share of fae sorcery, and at least he’s familiar with the psychic aspect of it all.

The only downside to the two weeks had been Norton’s downstairs head adamantly refusing to let go of the concept that Priest is very much attractive - and very much interested, if the one incident where they’d almost kissed was anything to go by. Norton hadn’t pegged him for the romantic type, but Priest had brought some Blackwing artillery to show him one day, and Norton had been 80% sure that it had been an attempt at wooing him.

 _It was definitely working_.

Still, Norton knows he can’t trust the man, though he’s sorely tempted to sleep with him.

Which is why Norton’s glad when he’s finally given the all-clear by the doctors after the 14th day of being stuck in the infirmary. His wound still aches, but he’s impatient to meet Dirk. He’s in the process of putting on a pastel blue dress shirt and black slacks - having won the argument with Adams on how he adamantly refuses to be caught dead wearing Blackwing _combat_ gear, perish the thought - when Priest saunters in.

“Boy’s ready,” he announces, and Norton ignores his eyes on him as he purposely bends over to pull the pants up his bare legs slowly, his perfect arse to Priest.

Norton is - pleasantly - shocked when Priest actually moves to stand close behind him as Norton zips and buttons up the pants, breath stuttering just slightly as Priest’s hands rest heavily on his hips. He doesn’t do anything else, just leaves them there, but the warmth from his palms are burning brands right through to Norton’s skin.

“Cheeky,” Norton chides, using his own hands to pull away Priest’s. “Are you typically this handsy with all your colleagues, Agent Priest?” he asks as he turns around to face the other man, though he doesn’t back away from him.

Their faces are a breadth apart, and Norton has to tilt his head up only slightly to look into Priest’s unreadable eyes.

“Are you typically this much of a cock tease?” Priest replies nonchalantly, eyes roving down Norton’s face to his throat, and Norton almost jumps when calloused fingers touch his skin there, tracing down to his collarbone as Priest pulls at his collar until the fold there falls away.

There’s a loud humming in Norton’s ears as his pulse quickens at the action. It’s been a deplorably long time since he’s had skin contact like this, and it’s laughable, really, how excitable his body has become.

“Dirk,” Norton breathes, reluctantly reaching up to grab Priest’s hand and pulling it away.

Priest’s eyes cloud over at the name, and he smirks, taking his hand back from Norton. “Rude to keep a lady waiting, ain’t it?” he agrees.

The walk to where they’re meeting Dirk is not as awkward as Norton had anticipated it to be. Priest seems to be acting as if nothing had happened, and Norton doesn’t regret that moment they had shared, either. Psycho or not, Priest _is_ attractive, and Norton’s decided that if he’s going to be stuck here in this century for the rest of his life, he may as well start planning long-term. Priest seems to be as good as any start Norton can get.

It doesn’t hurt that Priest seems to have some kind of pull over Adams, whom, with more interactions with him, Norton’s started to feel is more like a child on a playground, playing at being king. Ergo, a dangerous man to work for, if you didn’t have leverage. Norton would know; he’s been buggered by the Committee, after all.

 _Nothing more dangerous than that_.

Norton hears Dirk before he sees him, his voice loud and vibrant, drifting out into the hallway from an open door to their left at the end of a hall.

“-really necessary?” he hears Dirk ask someone exasperatedly. “I _can_ walk on my own, you know! Have I got a sign on my back that says ‘PUSH HERE’?”

Norton raises a brow at Priest as a couple of guards exit the room to stand on either side of the door, both saluting Priest stiffly. Priest simply shrugs at Norton, gesturing for him to enter first.

The room is almost identical to the infirmary Norton had been staying in, except instead of a bed, there’s a single metal desk in the centre with a single plastic chair on one side and two more on the other. Dirk is sat on the singular chair, hands chained in front of him to the surface of the desk.

He looks paler than Norton remembers, slightly thinner, as well, and it looks more pronounced with the grey jumpsuit he’s wearing. He’s fidgeting with the chains, though it seems to be more of a nervous habit than out of any intentions to escape them. He looks up when Norton enters, and Norton’s taken aback at the shiny sheen of unshed tears in his eyes.

He’s never seen anyone so openly expressive before, especially when Dirk looks simultaneously relieved and apprehensive at the sight of him.

“Norton!” he cries out, taking in Norton’s appearance with a speed that almost seems frantic. “You’re alive! That’s good, that’s fantastic! There was so much blood on you when we left, and you were _delirious_! I’m so sorry for falling on you, by the way, probably did not help at all with that stabby wood thing poking into you.”

He says it all without taking a breath in between, and Norton marvels at that, except then Dirk makes a sudden 180 change, lips snapping shut and head dropping, his back straightening in the chair, all traces of his jubilance gone. Norton realizes why immediately, as Priest walks past him and takes one of the seats facing Dirk.

“Hello, Svlad,” Priest greets, and Norton doesn’t miss the flinch that it elicits.

“H-hello, Mr. Priest,” Dirk answers softly, voice trembling with palpable fear, eyes fixed on the table in front of him.

Norton finds that the exchange infuriates him.

“Agent Priest, could you give us a moment, please?” Norton asks, though his tone clearly indicates it as more of a command than a request.

Priest turns in his seat to give him a deadpan look, but at Norton’s glare, he rolls his eyes and stands back up.

“Guess I’ll talk to you later, then, Svlad,” Priest tells Dirk, who flinches again, hands fisting tightly on the table.

Norton grabs Priest by the elbow as he passes him, holding a hand out. Priest cocks his head questioningly, and Norton sighs. “Keys,” he clarifies. “To the chains.”

Priest rolls his eyes again, and Norton hopes vindictively that they actually fall out of their sockets one day. But Priest digs into his pocket and drops a silver key onto Norton’s open palm before continuing on his way out, closing the door behind him.

“Much obliged, petal!” Norton calls out to him pointedly. He’s a feeling Priest is rolling his eyes at him again outside, but it’s probably just wishful thinking.

Norton goes about unlocking Dirk’s cuffs. The poor thing’s still all tensed up, refusing to make eye contact even as Norton sits himself on the desk once he’s freed his hands. Dirk pulls his arms in to his chest once the chains are off, rubbing at his wrists.

“Thank you,” he murmurs, eyes still downcast. He sounds much less scared, but up close, Norton can see that his shoulders are trembling minutely, and it’s hard to not believe the meek act is genuine.

Yet, Norton’s never met anyone so _defenceless_ before, and that niggling urge to protect this man comes back to him, full force.

“Hello, Dirk,” Norton says gently.

Dirk freezes, daring to peek under his fringe to look at Norton briefly before turning his gaze back to the desk. “My name is Svlad,” he says hesitantly.

 _A test_ , Norton thinks. _He thinks this is a test_.

“According to whom?” Norton asks, making a show of pouting. “A rose is a rose, etetera etcetera,” he says dismissively. “If you prefer to be Dirk Gently, then I shall call you Dirk Gently.”

Dirk looks like he’s about to start crying at that, so Norton cups his chin in one hand, lifting his head until Dirk has no choice but to look him in the eye.

“I won’t tell if you won’t,” Norton promises, winking exaggeratedly.

He feels ridiculous doing it, but it works; Dirk’s lips quirk up into a wry smile, and Norton grins back at him, pleased.

“Are you working for Blackwing?” Dirk asks suddenly as Norton releases his hold on his chin.

Norton sighs, shrugging his shoulders. “I suppose I am,” he says sourly. “It was the only way they’d let me see you, dear. Unreasonable lot, aren’t they?”

Dirk snorts inelegantly, giving a full body shudder. “You have _no idea_ ,” he says, slouching back defeatedly in his chair. He looks up at Norton curiously, then, head tilted thoughtfully. “Who _are_ you?” he asks. “And why do you look like me?”

Norton smirks down at him, unable to help himself. “I’m very much sure you’re the one that looks like moi, poppet,” he says. “I’m from 1950’s London.”

Dirk’s eyes widen comically, and he sits up so fast Norton almost falls off the desk, startled.

“A _Timetraveller_?” Dirk gushes. “How? Who? _When_? I’ve only met one other Timetraveller before, or well, technically three? If you counted myself, but we were only limited to travelling about a week or so into the past and the future. It was a time loop, you see, and the machine was _technically_ broken, since the man who had created it had accidentally sent it to the future, where a group of hippies cum occultists misused it _terribly_ and a lot of people died because of that, which, _bad_ , yes?”

Norton smiles at the speed with which Dirk is speaking. He honestly has no idea what Dirk is going on about - he can barely catch any actual words - but he seems a lot more in his element, rambling on like this, and it’s a pleasant improvement from how he’d been just moments before.

“-and Todd was so _angry_ , you should have seen him! He’s such a vicious little thing when he’s furious, I was terrified he’d really meant it when he’d said he didn’t ever want to speak to me again,” Dirk is saying, looking genuinely sad. He stops speaking for a moment, and his eyes start watering, much to Norton’s alarm. “He probably thinks the aliens got me,” he muses quietly, looking down as he hugs his arms around himself. “I was supposed to meet him that day, but the alien came when I was about to leave, and then Priest was there and!”

Dirk chokes on a sob, tears actually falling, and Norton can’t help himself as he moves from the desk to kneel on the ground by Dirk’s chair, pulling him into a hug.

“Oh, love,” he sighs as Dirk turns towards him in the embrace, crying helplessly and burying his face into the crook of Norton’s neck as Norton rubs circles into his back comfortingly. “There, there, let it out, sweetness, it’s alright to cry.”

“I’m sorry,” Dirk sobs, “I’m sorry, please, I want to go home. My friends need me, the case isn’t solved yet, it _hurts_ to be trapped here.”

Norton hums to him, holds him tighter as Dirk sobs his heart out. He’s used to this from the working girls he’s befriended in the seedier parts of Soho, girls that hadn’t had the luxury of choosing their lots in life, but somehow, Dirk’s anguished sobs affect him so much more. Norton wants to hide him away from the world, keep him somewhere safe where no one can so much as look at him, let alone lay a hand on his hair.

Norton feels _invested_ , and it’s foreign, the force with which he feels this, and vaguely, Norton wonders if Dirk isn’t a witch instead.

The floor is unkind to Norton’s knees, and the awkward angle with which he’s hugging Dirk is hell on his mostly-healed wound. But Norton daren’t push Dirk, even as his sobs subside eventually into quiet, pathetic little sniffles. It’s only when Dirk pulls away himself that Norton lets him go, and he watches silently as Dirk wipes at his eyes and cheeks viciously.

“Do you believe in fate, Dirk?” Norton asks him, resting a hand on Dirk’s thigh.

Dirk looks at him with a wan smile, sniffing, doesn’t say anything about the touch. “Fate, chance,” he says, waving a hand vaguely in the air. “I’m a Holistic Detective. Everything that happens around me is connected.”

Norton smiles. “Then you agree our meeting bears some significance,” he says.

He’s surprised when Dirk frowns, head tilting as his eyes cloud over ever so slightly.

“ _You’re_ not connected,” Dirk says, sounding a little lost. “You’re not connected to _anything_.”


	3. Is that infectious?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I managed to clean this up before work, so, early post!
> 
> Warning; there's implied non-con here which never happened. Norton jumps to conclusions. Also mentions of consensual sex between a teenager and a legal adult, in case you're sensitive to that sort of thing.

_“I get_ feelings _,” Dirk says in a hushed voice, as if he’s telling Norton some great, big secret. “Everything feels like something to me, especially when it’s important to a case. It’s like waking up in the middle of the morning at 3am, craving a glass of milk. Except, I get the cravings all the time and it sort of hurts if I don’t go drink the milk like I want to.”_

 _“And Blackwing, they_ want _you to drink that milk?” Norton asks him._

 _Dirk nods quickly, a pained look on his face. “But they only want me to drink milk_ they _give me, and the Universe doesn’t work that way,” Dirk tells him despairingly. “I think Ken’s figured that out, but he’s trying to find a way around that. He wants to control it. It_ hurts _.”_

_Norton grabs his hand, squeezing it comfortingly, pleased when Dirk squeezes back. “I’ll bring it up with him,” he promises. “Your case, the one you were working on when we found you; will you hurt less if you solved it?”_

_Dirk’s eyes close, and the wistful expression on his face tugs at Norton’s non-existent heartstrings._

_“That will definitely help,” he murmurs._

\---

“Whyever not?” Norton demands, slamming his hands down on Adams’ desk.

Adams stares at him as he leans back in his chair, unimpressed. “It’s probably a ruse,” he rationalizes. “An excuse to go back outside. The second we let him walk out of the facility, he disappears again. He’s got _friends_ beyond these walls, Agent. They’ll sniff him out without the tech we’re using here to cut him off from them.”

“Priest and I go with him, then!” Norton argues. “He trusts me, and bully for Priest, the boy’s _petrified_ of him!”

Adams frowns, mouthing ‘bully’ questioningly at Priest who’s standing a little ways behind Norton.

“Your so-called ‘tests’ aren’t the only things that are discouraging him from cooperating with you, you daft prick,” Norton snaps, pushing off Adams’ desk and moving until Adams has his eyes back on him. “Those powers of his, the thing you’re really after? They _don’t work_ if you keep him locked up in here.”

“And suddenly _you’re_ the expert on it?” Adams retorts.

“Torchwood. We’ve been around for _centuries_. I’ve met aliens that defy the laws of physics, travelled through space and time, stopped hostile global takeovers of distant planets while _you_ weren’t even _conceived_ yet,” Norton sneers. “It doesn’t take a genius to see that whatever methods you’re using on him to control his powers, _they aren’t working_.”

Norton is breathing heavily by the end of his tirade, but it’s difficult to maintain his composure when talking to Adams is nothing short of arguing with a child that thinks it knows better than its parent. Adams is desperately grasping at straws, trying to prove some sort of point or something, and he clearly doesn’t give a toss if that hurts anyone in the process.

A dangerous man, just as Norton had guessed.

“Maybe he’s got a point,” Priest says, breaking the heavy silence that had fallen around them in the room. Norton turns to him, wary of what he thinks he’s doing, but Priest has his eyes on Adams.

Adams snorts derisively. “Is that _your_ opinion, or your dick’s?” he asks dryly.

“I beg your pardon?” Norton snaps, turning back to Adams.

“Hey, I don’t care what rocks your boat, man,” Adams says, raising his hands in front of him appeasingly. “But the two of you have got some unresolved sexual _thing_ going on between you, anyone with eyes can see that. My best agent’s judgment is compromised, so I have to ask.”

Priest giggles sharply, and Norton glares at him. “He’s not wrong,” Priest says, shrugging. To Adams, he says, “And my work is _never_ compromised. We both know that.”

Adams looks sort of disturbed, then, but he nods reluctantly in agreement. “Fine, that was out of line,” he relents. “How much weight do you hold on Folgate’s points, then?”

“Svlad’s not responding to the tests,” Priest says. “He never has. We know what he can do now; but we haven’t tested it against a new variable. Let him solve his cases, with me and Folgate handling. He’ll get to Blackwing eventually. You know he wouldn’t even be here if the Universe didn’t want him here.” Priest grins slightly, adding, “I’ve a feeling his case now has a Blackwing Project involved. We’ll get a new addition out of it.”

Adams looks far more interested now at the mention of a Blackwing Project, and Norton has no idea what that means, but whatever gets Adams to give them the greenlight is good enough for him. Anything besides is irrelevant.

“Fine,” Adams finally says, standing up and shooting them both a warning look. “But if shit goes sideways and you both lose Svlad, all three of you will be sharing the same room in the basement. _Next to Project Succubus_.”

Norton has no idea what that means, either, but Priest just giggles. “Who wants to tell the boy the good news?” he asks.

\---

_Dirk asks him who he is again, sheepish for his earlier behaviour._

_They’ve both moved to sit together in one corner of the room, pressed close to each other’s sides but otherwise not touching. Norton has his legs stretched out in front of him, while Dirk has his knees folded close to his chest, chin resting on his knees. He’s drawing shapes on the floor with a finger as he talks to Norton, and it takes a while before Norton notices that it’s not something Dirk seems aware that he’s doing._

_“My father was a vicar,” Norton is telling him. “Mother sewed cassocks that ended up being blown to pieces in a bomb blast. They hated me.”_

_Dirk makes a distressed sound, looking over at him sympathetically. Norton waves his concern away, smiling._

_“I was fine,” he insists. “I ran away at thirteen, joined a group of street urchins masquerading as a gang for a couple of years before Torchwood recruited me.”_

_“What’s Torchwood?” Dirk asks, perking up immediately like Christmas had come early._

_“It’s like Blackwing, I suppose,” Norton says, laughing when Dirk makes a face at that. “But a lot less illegal! That’s a bad example, isn’t it?”_

_“Very,” Dirk agrees._

_Norton hums thoughtfully, trying to remember Torchwood’s pitch to him when he’d been inducted. “It’s like,” he starts, pausing as he thinks hard, “it’s like James Bond? Except, we’re not as clandestine as them, nothing so glamorous. Torchwood’s primary directive is to ‘defend Earth against supernatural and extraterrestrial threats’, but it involves a surprisingly large amount of clean-up, usually.”_

_“Aliens?” Dirk asks, getting excited again. His whole face positively lights up like a lamp. “My case had aliens involved in it! Oh, is_ that _the reason why we’ve met?_ Could _you_ actually _be connected to this after all?”_

_Norton shakes his head. “I don’t know, love,” he says. “You mentioned your feelings. It’s odd, then, isn’t it? That you don’t feel anything at all about me?”_

_Dirk frowns, deflating, and Norton regrets bringing that up. “Nothing is connected, too,” Dirk says miserably. “But I think the Universe made a mistake, this time,” he continues, shuddering. “Something’s not_ right _.”_

_He’s still frowning deeply, lost in thought, and Norton nudges him with his shoulder. “Penny for your thoughts, love?” he prods._

_Dirk glances at him, looking uncertain, but then inhales deeply before leaning in close to whisper, “Someone told me the Universe is broken, and we’ve got to fix it.”_

_Norton raises a brow at that, and Dirk sighs. “I don’t know what that means, either,” he confesses. “But I’ve never met anyone I didn’t feel_ anything _about, so it must make sense if that’s the case.”_

_“How do you fix a broken universe?” Norton asks incredulously, and Dirk shushes him urgently, glancing around them before giving Norton a stern glare that makes Norton want to squish his cheeks with how cute that makes him look._

_“I don’t think Blackwing knows about this, yet,” Dirk says, tone low and conspiratorial. “Francis told me, but he said he didn’t know much else, either.”_

_“Who’s Francis?” Norton asks, completely lost._

_“Blackwing called him Project Moloch,” Dirk explains. “He could create things he dreamt about, and I was given a case to find a Boy to save a world in a pocket dimension he’d created when Blackwing came to take him away, and it turned out that_ he _was the boy all along!”_

_Norton stares at him blankly, but it only makes Dirk laugh. “It’s really actually quite simple,” Dirk says, and Norton scoffs softly._

_“To you, maybe,” he tells him._

_Dirk smiles, a sad little twist of his lips that does things to Norton’s black heart. “I wish everyone else could see it, too,” he murmurs. “How everything just_ connects _.”_

\---

“He has that effect on people,” Priest says out of the blue, while they’re in Blackwing’s utility room, packing what they might need for when they leave.

Norton’s searching through the weapons rack in there, trying to find something more subtle than the assault rifles Priest seems to be favouring. Priest had insisted that he would need them - a _lot_ of them, apparently - and had mentioned that it was part of his ‘holistic hunter’ abilities, but Norton thinks it’s just an excuse to fire the shit out of things if he feels like it.

“Who has what?” Norton asks distractedly, picking up a reasonably-sized pistol. “You know, I don’t understand why you can’t just let me have my guns back,” he adds as an afterthought as he weighs the pistol in his hand and puts it back, not liking how heavy it is. More of a hindrance than an advantage in close combat.

“They’re advanced tech,” Priest replies, and Norton feels more than hears him move closer behind him. “They got the engineers down in R&D all excited.”

Norton turns around, only to find himself staring right at Priest’s chin, and when he looks up, Priest is looking down at him heatedly.

“They’re also _mine_ ,” Norton snaps, pressing a hand against Priest’s chest and pushing him back firmly. Priest goes without a fight, but the look in his eyes doesn’t change. “And property of Torchwood. You need my permission to reverse engineer them, which I don’t recall giving.”

“Take it up with Ken,” Priest replies. “And I was talking about Svlad. You’re affected by him. Everyone is. Seen it happen enough times.”

Norton rolls his eyes, smirking. “Jealous, petal?” he teases.

Priest smirks right back, but doesn’t deny it. “They all die, you know,” he says. “Everyone he’s ever cared about, everyone that’s ever cared about him; they all die. Except for the holistic ones, and that’s only if the Universe still needs them.”

Norton frowns. “You’re bluffing,” he challenges Priest.

Priest just shrugs, turning around and walking away towards the other side of the room, where their duffels are sitting on a long steel table.

“Just a friendly warning,” he calls over his shoulder. “Wouldn’t want you to die too early on in the mission.”

“Before you could fuck me, you mean,” Norton retorts, aware of how childish that sounds but irked by this new piece of information.

He’s sure there’s more to the story than Priest is letting on, but Priest hasn’t lied to him about anything yet. Whatever the details are, Dirk _does_ seem to have no personal connections besides the Todd and Farah he’s mentioned to Norton, and from Dirk’s disjointed explanations, the current living status of the two are questionable at best.

“Or before you could fuck Svlad,” Priest counters, stuffing the rifle he's holding into one of the duffles which is already filled to the brim with several others. “Boy’s a ride, I’ll give you that.”

It takes an embarrassingly long moment before Norton actually registers what Priest had just said, and the blood in Norton’s veins freeze at the implications. Before he knows it, he’s already striding up to Priest, anger boiling over as he grabs the man by the shoulder and turns him around to face him violently.

“Tell me you _did not_ ,” he hisses into Priest’s scarred face.

Priest looks immensely amused as he looks back at Norton. “Didn’t have to force him, if that’s what you’re getting at,” he says, blaise. “Not my kind of thing.”

Norton calms down only slightly at the confirmation, but he’s still _furious_. The flinches, the fear, the meekness Dirk adopts immediately whenever Priest is in the vicinity; it all makes perfect sense now, and Norton feels _sick_ that he’s ever considered sleeping with this psycho standing before him.

“I wager he wasn’t completely willing, either,” Norton snarls, slapping his hand into Priest’s shoulder and causing the man to stagger backwards a step. “What did you do? Manipulate his feelings? Pretended to be his only friend in this pisshole only to abandon him once you’d had your fun with him? Did you sleep with him just to _holistically_ fuck him up for the rest of his life?”

Priest grabs his wrist when Norton makes to hit him again, and his grip borders on painful. Norton knows Priest can easily overpower him, but the thought of Priest hurting Dirk in such a painfully intimate way is driving Norton _mental_ , and he doesn’t care if Priest decides to throttle him then and there, Dirk deserves someone to fight for him, even if it’s after the fact.

“Calm down,” Priest says, and the anger flares all over again in Norton’s chest at his unconcerned tone. “It was a long time ago, and the boy wanted it. You can ask him yourself, if you don’t believe me.”

Norton doesn’t _not_ believe him, but knowing what he knows of Priest and Dirk, he can’t help but feel that there must have been an unfair power imbalance between the two. Regardless of what Dirk had wanted, he’s sure Priest had somehow coerced him in some way.

“You’re treating him like a child,” Priest snaps suddenly, pulling Norton out of his vexed thoughts. It shocks the anger out of him momentarily, because it’s the first time in a while since Priest has shown any emotion besides varying degrees of detached amusement. He almost looks _offended_. “You have no idea how _powerful_ that boy is,” Priest continues, eyes narrowing as he leans closer to Norton. “He’s not some delicate little flower you need to shade from the sun, he’s a Holistic _Guide_. Wherever he goes, the rest of us will eventually follow, and he may not be invulnerable like Bart, but you can be damned sure the Universe will keep him safer than you could ever hope to achieve.”

Priest lets go of his wrist at the end of his tirade, almost looking as worked up as Norton had been earlier. The loss of his usual indifferent demeanour tells Norton far more than whatever Priest has actually put into words, and Norton feels adequately lambasted, realizing in that moment that he truly has no idea who Priest is.

“You _love_ him,” Norton breathes, realization dawning on him like a bucket of cold water’s been dumped over his head. “You love him, but this, this universe or whatever it is all of you keep going on about; it won’t _allow_ it, isn’t it? Is that true?”

Priest purses his lips, glaring down at him. It’s enough of an answer for Norton, who runs a hand over his face and makes a choked sound of disbelief.

“I take it back,” he says, looking over at Priest through the gaps between his fingers. “You holistically fucked _yourself_ up, and Dirk’s just going through the echoes of it.”

“Whatever you saw in Svlad, alone in that room with him, that’s all him,” Priest says in a low growl. “He’s always been that way. My role in the Universe is to _hurt_ people, Norton, and I _like_ doing it. I’m sure I don’t have to tell you what kind of ‘creative differences’ drove us from each other.”

Norton drops his hand from his face, suddenly feeling unfathomably tired as Priest turns to look away. “Why don’t you just tell the universe to bugger off,” he says thinly.

“I did,” Priest scoffs. “August, 1996; 347 residents of a small town turned into pure diamond over night and Svlad kept having nightmares of it. Said he saw me cutting the head off of a little girl and begged me not to go near the place. I didn’t, even though I knew I should have, but Blackwing brought back the sole survivor of the town, the cause for the incident, and she went crazy. The only way to stop her was to separate her brain from the rest of her body, and the rest was blacked out in reports.”

Norton flinches at the imagery, flashbacks of watching sick, dying bodies moulding into each other in a contained room flooding to the forefront of his mind, Jack’s face contorting with horror. The awful _smell_ of disease permeating the air and filling him up with every breath he took.

“Svlad hasn’t forgiven himself for it,” Norton hears Priest continue, his voice flat and monotonous in a way that Norton hasn’t heard it before, snapping Norton out of his memories. “It would’ve happened anyway, the Universe always makes sure it gets what it wants. And it’s my job to help it.”

Priest zips up the duffle he’d been stuffing full and hefts it over his shoulder, turning towards the door. He pauses, then says dryly, “Remind me to teach you how to punch harder,” and then leaves.

Norton stands in the room alone for a long time, a million thoughts running through his mind as he tries to reconcile the image he’s had of Priest and the revelations the man had just thrown at him. It hurts him something physical, this tragic love story he seems to have unintentionally stumbled upon, and he wonders, not for the first time, what he’s done to have to deal with this shite in his life.

\---

“Am I dreaming?” Dirk asks faintly, looking over at Norton for confirmation.

Norton huffs out a laugh, firmly guiding Dirk by the shoulders towards the SUV waiting for them in Blackwing’s hangar.

“Believe me, sweetness, if you were, there would be a lot less clothes involved,” Norton says, only half-joking, and Dirk blushes all the way to his ears as he gets into the back of their ride.

“Does _he_ really have to come with us?” Dirk asks in a low tone, changing the subject.

Norton knows without looking in the direction Dirk is indicating that he’s referring to Priest, who’s busy speaking with Adams at the entrance of the hangar.

“I’m afraid we need him,” Norton says, gripping onto the open passenger door tightly before forcing himself to relax. “Don’t worry about a thing, I’ll handle him, love. You just do your holistic whatever and point us in the right direction.”

“Holistic _detectiving_ ,” Dirk corrects him almost automatically, even though that doesn’t make sense either. He looks uncertain, but then he nods, straightening his back and huffing out his chest, and Norton almost expects him to salute. “The alien that was attacking me was driving a van with a pest control company’s logo on it,” he says. “Farah and Todd were visiting their branch office in the town we were in.”

“Is that where we should go, then?” Norton asks, surprised when Dirk shakes his head.

“Angaries,” Dirk says, “in Oregon. I _think_.”

“You _think_ ,” Norton echoes him dubiously.

Dirk shakes his head again before nodding quickly. “Yes, I’m almost quite certain of it,” he says.

Norton stares at him for a moment, but then he hears Priest’s familiar steps approaching behind him and he quickly ushers Dirk further into the seats before slamming the door shut and turning around.

“About time,” he says to Priest. “Apparently we’re going to Oregon.”

Priest nods, says, “Had a feeling about that,” to Norton’s questioning look and goes round the car to the driver’s side. Norton sighs, already not looking forward to the long drive ahead of them, and slips into the front passenger seat himself, just in time to catch Dirk rambling nervously in the back.

“It’s just that I work better with an assistant,” Norton hears.

Priest snorts in reply. “We’re not looking for your friends, Svlad,” he says firmly. “Pretty sure they’re dead by now without you, anyway.”

Norton turns to the back to see Dirk’s crestfallen face, tears gathering in his downcast eyes.

“I’m sure they’re just fine, love,” Norton says hastily, shooting Priest a dirty look which the other man simple ignores in favour of shifting the gear into drive. “Let’s focus on the case instead. We’ll probably run into them eventually if they’re following the trail like you are.”

“They’re not going to Oregon,” he hears Dirk mutter sadly.

“What makes you so sure?” Norton asks him.

Dirk shrugs, explaining in a matter-of-fact tone, “They didn’t see the beaver in the van.”

Norton stares at him for a long moment before exhaling slowly and turning back to the front and pulling his seatbelt on as the car starts to move. Priest giggles, so Norton punches him in the shoulder, making sure not to do it too hard since he’s driving. Getting into an accident before they’ve even left the compound is definitely at the bottom of his to-do list.

“According to the autopsy report on the alien in the hotel room, the thing’s brain was in its stomach,” Priest says. “You ever heard of that, Norton?”

Norton has, actually. “Nostrovite,” he guesses. “They weren’t as abundant in my time as they are in the 21st century, so I’ve never actually met one in the flesh before. According to Torchwood records, however, they’re close to what Native Americans call a ‘wendigo’. Except, they pass easily as a normal human until they get hungry and start gorging on your flesh.”

Dirk makes a distressed sound at that, leaning forward over the centre console between Norton and Priest.

“Is that infectious?” he asks worriedly. “Because one of them _bit_ me in the neck before and it hurts _terribly_ , by the way, extremely _not recommended_ , but I haven’t gotten any urges to eat someone.”

 _Shite_.

“When did it bite you, Dirk?” Norton asks urgently, twisting in his seat to grasp Dirk’s arm.

Dirk’s eyes widen in shock as he stammers out, “I’m not sure? Exactly? The day before you came? Maybe.” Shock turns fearful, and he asks, “Why? Is that important?”

The day before they’d taken him, which is far longer than a Nostrovite’s usual gestation period, but Norton knows better than to count his chickens before they’ve hatched. Still, if Dirk hasn’t displayed any signs of being pregnant with alien offspring, he thinks it’s best he keep the information to himself.

“No, no,” Norton reassures him. “It’s likely nothing. Completely unrelated, probably.” Dirk visibly relaxes at that, and Norton lets go of his arm as Dirk leans back into the seats, though he resents the loss of contact.

He notices Priest’s eyes narrowing on the road and groans internally, knowing the man is going to question him about it further the moment they’re alone. He hopes Priest would forget it by then; Norton is certainly not looking forward to explaining alien procreation to the man.

“Well, that’s a relief,” Dirk sighs. “Imagine me turning into an alien. Sounds exciting, but the flesh-eating part’s a bit icky.”

“You’d starve yourself just to avoid it,” Norton agrees.

“Are all aliens really that dangerous, though?” Dirk asks curiously. “You’ve met a few, haven’t you, Norton?”

Norton hums thoughtfully before answering him. “It depends, I suppose,” he says. “Most of the ones that end up on earth are pretty dull, and honestly stupid. A child could outsmart them, believe me. But there _are_ far more advanced lifeforms beyond us, whole planets full of nasty little buggers that think humans are little more than ants, and some of them end up here and attempt to replace influential public figures in the hopes of world domination.”

“Torchwood makes sure they don’t, right?” Dirk asks anxiously. “Like Sculder and Molly?”

Norton’s brows furrow in confusion, not a clue as to what Dirk is talking about, but Priest giggles.

“ _Mul_ der and _Scul_ ly, he means,” Priest clarifies.

“Aren’t they from a _variety_ show?” Norton asks, still confused.

Priest huffs out an actual laugh this time, thoroughly amused.

“It’s a scifi show,” Dirk tells Norton, adding almost patronizingly, “Even _I_ know that, Norton.”

Norton rolls his eyes, retorting, “Well, excuse me if I’m busy _actually_ killing aliens instead of watching the telly about it.”

He realizes a moment too late how badly he’s worded that when Dirk inhales sharply. “Y-you’ve killed aliens?” Dirk asks, voice trembling.

 _Double shite_.

Norton almost considers telling him that it had been a slip of the tongue, but decides against lying to Dirk, turning around in his seat to give Dirk his most repentant frown.

“Hazards of the job, love,” he explains regretfully. “If Torchwood doesn’t do it, no one else will, or _can_.”

Dirk looks betrayed, regardless, quickly looking out the window to avoid his eyes. “Just once, I’d like a friend in Blackwing that hasn’t killed something,” he mutters, seemingly to himself.

Norton lets out a sigh, turning back to the front again. He feels awful, and his stab wound gives a twinge for absolutely no reason, which just makes him feel even worse.

 _Definitely a_ long _ride_ , he thinks sourly, almost grateful when Priest turns the radio on and loud rock music replaces the silence in the car.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hiiii.
> 
> 1\. What Norton says about his parents is loosely quoted from Torchwood: Ghost Mission. The rest about him running away? Completely made up.
> 
> 2\. The 1996 incident Priest mentions is my explanation of the _Diamond Incident_ , which got Priest kicked out of Blackwing. Not out of the CIA, though, and not for reasons everyone thinks. Anyway, don't mistake Priest for feeling anything close to regret about it; he totally doesn't care what he did. He just cares that _Dirk_ cared about it. 
> 
> 3\. A Nostrovite is a real alien in the Torchwood universe. Apparently their brains _are_ in their stomachs, and they reproduce by impregnating a host through bite. In the show, a Nostrovite bites Gwen Cooper, who wakes up heavily-pregnant the very next day. They are also flesh-eating and can shapeshift, as Norton mentioned.
> 
> 4\. Angaries, Oregon is a fictional location. Pretend it's real. It's based off of the real town of McMinnville, though. FYI, I'm not American, and I've never been to the US, so don't pay too close of an attention to the logistics of this fic. Thanks!
> 
> 5\. Also, high five to everyone who understood the X-Files reference (I loved that show). Also, we have Sergeant Andy Davidson in Ghost Mission to thank for Norton thinking that X-Files was a _variety_ show. *facepalms*


	4. A decent human being.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Norton reveals the reason he's on the run in 2017. Sort of.
> 
> Priest also finds out he's no longer working for Torchwood. Also _sort of_.

They stop 3 hours later for gas and because Dirk needs to piss.

Norton’s waiting for him outside the door of the one-cubicle toilet in the back of the gas station while Priest fills up the car when a grizzly-looking man dressed in overalls and a battered cap lumbers up to him. Norton doesn’t realize he’s not waiting for the toilet until the man actually sidles up against the wall by his side and grins dirtily at him.

“What’s a pretty thing like you doin’ round these parts, boy?” the man grunts, eyes roving down the length of Norton’s body.

Norton looks at him, sizes him up, decides he’s not worth a bullet, all in the span of half a minute. “God, no,” he deadpans. “Please, you are _definitely_ not my type.”

The man barks out a laugh, and actual spittle lands somewhere on Norton’s cheek. Disgusted, Norton takes a step back, giving the man an unimpressed stare that’s sent plenty of ‘suitors’ running in the past.

“C’mon, I could show you a good time,” the man insists, making an obscene gesture with his hand at his groin.

“That’s completely vile, and I lived through the _50’s_ ,” Norton scoffs. “Scurry along, poppet, I’m not about to change my mind.”

Norton doesn’t know what he’d expected the man to do next, but he definitely hadn’t expected his eyes to blink red suddenly, or for his lips to part and reveal rows of sharp, nasty-looking fangs.

“I think you might,” the man growls, his voice changing drastically into something decidedly far less human. “My master sends his regards, Agent Folgate. The Committee doesn’t _forgive_.”

Norton feels himself paling, and just barely manages to stumble backwards and avoid the clawed swipe the alien makes at his chest. He pulls out his gun, but the alien is fast, faster than a Nostrovite - which scratches that off their list of suspects - and catches its claws on the barrel of his gun, throwing it out of Norton’s hands.

Norton curses, ducking when the alien swipes again, and sweeps his feet under the alien’s legs. It drops to the ground with a shocked yelp, and Norton kicks it over onto its front and grabs at its flailing hands, pulling its arms behind it and kneeing it in the back to pin it down. It struggles, but either it’s not superhumanly strong, or the position is too painful, because Norton manages to hold it.

“What’re you, then, petal?” Norton grunts down at it, digging his knee down harder when the alien growls in response. “Who sent you?”

The alien makes a gurgling sound, and Norton only realizes that it’s _laughing_ when it turns its head to grin nastily up at him.

“Master said whoever catches you could have you first,” it hisses. “I wonder if you taste as delicious as you look, pretty boy.”

Norton glares down at him, unphased. “You’re not the first hideous thing that’s said that to me,” he sneers, pulling the alien’s arms up higher behind it until it screeches with pain. “Now, be a doll and tell me _who sent you_ before I decide to put a bullet between your eyes.”

“ _Oh my god_!”

_Honestly._

The alien thrashes as Norton looks over to where Dirk has just exited the toilet, and Norton lets go of one of its arms to grab the back of its head, slamming it viciously into the concrete ground. The alien grunts, going limp as it’s stunned, and Norton points towards the gas pumps.

“Go and get Priest, love, there’s a dear,” Norton tells Dirk, who stands frozen, gaping open-mouthed at Norton and the alien. “ _Dirk_!” Norton barks out, and it snaps Dirk out of his shock. “Priest; _now_ , please.”

Dirk makes a choked sound, nodding frantically as he runs off, glancing over his shoulder as he disappears out of Norton’s sight. Norton makes the mistake of losing his focus making sure Dirk stays the _fuck_ away, and the alien manages to make him lose his footing as it bucks violently. Norton falls sideways, crashing his shoulder into the ground painfully, but it’s nowhere near as painful as when the alien lands a kick right into his gut, where his wound is still not quite completely healed.

Norton gasps, curling up instinctively, arms wrapping around his waist, struggling not to scream through the agony, and he barely notices when the alien kicks him again, catching his chin and snapping his head to the side. Norton’s vision blacks out for a split moment, his head pounds, his body throbs, and he vaguely tastes copper on his tongue.

He reaches out blindly as the alien lands kick after kick on him, bruising his thigh, his chest, possibly dislocating his shoulder as a particularly vicious strike rolls him over a few meters like a ragdoll. Fortunately, the last move’s brought Norton closer to where his gun had fallen, and he painfully musters enough strength to reach out for it, his blurry sight making him miss it by an inch.

“No, you don’t,” he hears the alien say as a clawed hand digs into his right ankle and he’s dragged backwards over the rough concrete.

Norton winces in pain, but turns himself over onto his back, kicking out at the alien. It lets go of him immediately to avoid the kick, staggering backwards, and Norton pushes himself up and scrambles for his gun again. He gets it, this time, but a series of gunshots ring through the air before Norton’s even turned back to the alien. By the time he’s turned around, still on his ass on the ground, the alien’s already flat on its back, motionless, black blood pooling out from under it.

“Norton!” Dirk cries out, dropping to his knees next to Norton, grabbing onto his shoulders and tugging him here and there as he checks for any injuries. “Your face,” he gasps when Norton turns to look at him.

Dirk reaches for his chin gingerly, but even the gentle touch elicits a sharp sting of pain and Norton winces before he can catch himself, causing Dirk to start apologizing profusely.

“It’s fine,” he tells Dirk, even though he’s sure his face will disagree vehemently in a few hours. For now, the adrenaline from the fight is still pumping through his veins, and Norton only just belatedly realizes that his stab wound had reopened, bleeding through his shirt. “Bugger,” he hisses as he presses a hand against the blood.

“Get him to the car,” he hears Priest say as the man strides past them, towards the dead alien. “We need to take the body with us.”

Dirk looks sick as he stares after Priest, so Norton nudges him and throws an arm over Dirk’s shoulders.

“Help me up, love,” he says, “Can’t quite feel my foot, to be honest.” Which, now that he looks closely, is also bleeding at the ankle, where the alien had grabbed him. _How quaint_ , he thinks irritably.

It does help take Dirk’s mind off of Priest bringing a dead body with them, though, and Dirk helps him stand up slowly. Norton pretends that his foot hurts a lot more than it actually does - _please_ , he’s had so much worse - and intentionally leans heavily against Dirk, pressing close into his side. Dirk doesn’t suspect a thing, wrapping an arm around Norton’s waist and carefully guiding him back to the car.

He stops suddenly after a couple of steps. “Ah, maybe you should consider putting that away first?” he says nervously, looking at something in Norton’s hand.

Realizing he’s referring to his gun, Norton laughs, shaking his head in disbelief before putting it back in his holster. “ _That’s_ what you’re worried about?” he asks Dirk, amused.

“Wouldn’t want it to accidentally go off,” Dirk says, rolling his eyes.

“The safety’s on,” Norton points out as they limp on their way.

“It’s a _gun_ ,” Dirk says incredulously. “How _safe_ could it be?”

Norton laughs again, wincing when the action sends his gut throbbing. “Point,” he concedes.

Dirk puts him in the back of the car, forcing him to lie down even though he’s fine enough to sit up. By the time Dirk’s slipped into the front seat, Priest is slamming the back hatch shut and is settling in behind the wheel moments later. He hands a first-aid box to Dirk, who takes it carefully.

“Take out the cotton pads, antiseptic and bandages,” Priest tells him, pulling out of the station.

“I don’t think I’m equipped to handle this,” Dirk says as he rummages through the box. “I’m barely capable of putting on a bandaid.”

“Norton can do it himself,” Priest tells him, catching Norton’s eyes in the rearview mirror.

“He’s right, love,” Norton assures Dirk. “Been in worse stitches before. Just pass those along, I’ll be right as rain.”

It takes careful maneuvering to keep the stab wound closed as he wraps fresh bandages over it, and with Dirk watching him closely, Norton can’t resist doing it as slowly as he can without losing too much blood. He doesn’t miss the way Dirk’s eyes linger, and it’s absolutely worth the pain he’s in.

“That thing,” Priest starts just as Norton’s cleaning out the scratches on his ankle. “There a reason it attacked you and not Dirk?”

“I _was_ in the toilet,” Dirk says, tearing his eyes away from Norton. “Maybe it thought Norton was me? We do look alike, after all.”

Priest grunts, and Dirk pushes himself back into his seat, almost draping himself over the door.

“I-I mean, that makes sense, doesn’t it?” he stammers out, glancing over at Norton nervously.

“And what does your universe have to say about that idea?” Norton asks him back, tossing bloodied clumps of cotton to the car floor as he starts wrapping up his ankle.

Dirk’s silent for a moment, and warningly, Priest says, “Svlad.”

“It wasn’t there for me!” Dirk says hurriedly. “It was there for a reason, but definitely not for me.”

“Which means it was there for Norton,” Priest states.

“Why couldn’t it have been looking for _you_ ,” Norton says spitefully as he ties off the bandage and tugs his sock and shoe back on delicately. “You’ve got loads in common. You’re both violent, painful to talk to, like leaving bruises on me. At this point, I’m also quite certain you would look just as good dead like it.”

Norton sees him rolling his eyes from the rear view mirror as he sits up in the seats, which are stained all over with his blood. He looks over his coat, blood-stained beyond repair around the waist, and tosses it to the side forlornly.

“I need a new coat,” he announces.

“What did it want from you?” Priest asks persistently.

“I’ll get cold,” Norton insists. “And sick, and then you’ll have to look after me and trust me, love, I’m a _terrible_ patient.”

“Norton,” Priest snaps, actually turning behind to glare at him for a moment.

Norton sees Dirk shifting in his seat out of the corner of his eye, glancing between the two of them warily. Norton sighs, taking pity on him.

“I’m fucked,” he says succinctly, pinching the bridge of his nose as he thinks of the simplest lie to explain the events that had led up to him ending up in Blackwing. “I made some very bad people very, _very_ cross with me and now they’re looking for me. Let’s just say I’ve made some unwise decisions in my youth and leave it at that.”

_Close enough._

“You’re _on the lam_!” Dirk concludes excitedly.

Norton smiles wryly, shaking his head. “I’m a loose end,” he says. “I had a feeling they would send bounty hunters after me, but I’d assumed they wouldn’t come this far into the future so I’d have more time to plan my next move.”

“There’s more of them?” Priest asks, and he sounds excited, too, but Norton knows it’s for completely different reasons than Dirk’s excitement.

“Your dead friend in the back there said as much, but I have no idea how many,” Norton confirms. “I don’t think they’re connected to the aliens Dirk was investigating, however.”

Dirk nods in agreement, but then pauses and shakes his head. “They are,” he says, slowly. “That one didn’t look like the ones that we were following, but _come on_. How big of a coincidence could it be that we’re suddenly running into so many aliens?” Dirk scoffs, rolling his eyes. “Everything is connected,” he says confidently.

“Except for _me_ ,” Norton points out. “You said so yourself.”

Dirk waves a hand dismissively. “But you’re _here_ ,” he says. “So, you _are_ connected.” In a more uncertain tone, he adds, “I’m never not completely wrong about anything.”

“Do you have any notion of how contradicting that is?” Norton asks him seriously.

“A good grasp of it, yes,” Dirk admits.

“And that’s good, then?” Norton says, laughing helplessly. “How many cases have you actually solved with that modus operandi?”

“Not that many,” Dirk tells him, sheepish.

“Good grief. Explain to me how Blackwing thinks you’re psychic,” Norton says with exasperation.

“I’m _not_ psychic!” Dirk denies with fervour.

“He is,” Priest interjects unnecessarily, and the two of them snap at him in unison, “Shut up!”

\---

It’s nightfall by the time they pass a run-down sign by the side of the road that cheerfully says, “Angaries, Oregon; Home of the angriest beavers!” which makes no sense at all to Norton.

Dirk had fallen asleep not long after they’d left the gas station, slumped against the window. Norton wishes he could follow suit, but the attack still has him on edge. He doesn’t dare let his eyes close, lest they run into more trouble. But it’s a losing fight against fatigue, especially with all the blood he’s lost, and it’s a blessing when Priest finally pulls up into a parking lot at a small, deserted motel in the middle of seemingly nowhere.

“Keep an eye on Svlad,” Priest says as he gets out of the car before Norton can respond.

Dirk startles awake when Priest slams his door closed behind him, arms flailing, and he accidentally smacks the side of his head into the window he’d been leaning against.

“ _Ow, ow, ow_ ,” he whines, hissing in pain as he clutches at his head.

Norton can’t help but chuckle at his antics, which earns him a doleful glare. “We’re at a motel,” he tells Dirk. “Priest is checking us in, I think.”

Dirk makes an ‘oh’ of realization, forgetting about his bump and pressing up against the window eagerly. “There’s nothing out there,” he observes with disappointment, forehead leaning against the glass as he looks around outside.

“We haven’t actually reached yet,” Norton tries to reassure him. “Think of the beds we’ll get to sleep in, that’ll be fun, at least.”

“I hope so,” Dirk sighs.

Of course, with Norton’s luck, turns out the ‘beds’ are only _one_ bed, albeit a particularly large, super king-sized one. He sends Priest a dirty look as the man shuffles in past them and dumps their duffles in a corner of the room.

“Can I sleep in the car?” Dirk asks nervously as he eyes the only piece of furniture in the otherwise empty room.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Norton says snippily, limping over to the bed and sitting down on it heavily. “Priest can take the car, you and I are sharing.”

Dirk looks a lot less nervous at that, except Priest goes back over to the door, behind Dirk - who hunches into himself at their proximity - and shuts it, locking it firmly.

“There’s enough room for all of us,” he says, turning around, and Dirk squeaks and dives onto the bed, leaning close against Norton’s side, clutching at his arm.

“You’re incorrigible,” Norton tells Priest, scowling.

“Everything else was full,” he says, and Norton rolls his eyes.

“You can’t expect me to _believe_ that when there aren’t any other cars outside!” Norton exclaims, actually offended that Priest would ever think he would fall for such a blatant lie.

Priest shrugs, going over to the other side of the room where the bathroom is. “There’s a UFO convention happening in town, just our luck,” he says, giggling. “This was the only empty room because the couple that booked it had an accident on the way here and we were the first walk-in they got.”

Norton gapes at him, looking away with a huff when Priest starts taking a piss without closing the door behind him.

“Could you at least _try_ to act like a decent human being!” he gripes, although he can’t help but imagine what Priest might be hiding between his unreasonably attractive legs.

“Can’t risk the two of you running off,” Priest reasons, though he sounds smug as if he could sense Norton’s thoughts.

“What kind of UFO convention?” Dirk asks Priest, and Norton looks over to see that he’s got his hands pressed tightly over his eyes. “Is that even a _thing_?”

The sound of the flush is like a bulldozer tearing through the pipes, nearly drowning out the sound of the tap water running as Priest washes off his hands.

“Cashier said it happens every year, lasts for about a week,” Priest says, walking back into the room.

Norton finally looks back over at Priest, and Dirk drops his hands into his lap before groaning and covering his eyes again because Priest has stripped his vest off and is in the process of pulling his shirt over his head, leaving him topless.

“Dear God,” Norton says thinly, feeling his cheeks heat up as he stares at Priest’s well-defined chest, unable to help himself.

It’s a very, very nice chest, but it’s really, really bad timing and he is very much sure Priest is doing it on purpose.

“I called Ken about the dead alien,” he hears Priest saying, and Norton manages to force his vision higher until their eyes meet, though the self-satisfied look on Priest’s face makes Norton wish he’d had the sense to cover his eyes like Dirk had. “He’s sending a team out here to take it off our hands. They’ll probably get here before morning.”

“For goodness’ sake, put on a shirt,” Norton manages to choke out when Priest bends over to grab the duffel, his biceps bulging as he drags it up onto one side of the bed. “ _Please_.”

Priest giggles, digging through the duffel and pulling out a white t-shirt. “Getting there,” he says, pulling it on, but it’s almost skin tight, and almost just as bad as if he weren’t wearing it at all, the thin material stretching taut over his pectorals and giving Norton a nice view.

“Have I mentioned how much I hate you?” Norton asks rhetorically. “Because I do. I hate you, very much. Please pass me the other bag, thank you.”

“Odd way to ask someone for help,” Priest notes, though he does comply, tossing the other duffle on the floor across the bed.

Norton ignores him, pulling out a brown sweater and a grey t-shirt, along with a pair of black shorts. “Here you go, love, you can change in the bathroom,” he says, pushing the sweater and shorts at Dirk.

Dirk drops his hands from his eyes to grab the clothes, murmuring a thanks as he stands and runs quickly into the bathroom, closing the door quietly behind him.

“Honestly, are you _trying_ to scare him away?” Norton hisses at Priest angrily, unbuttoning his own shirt viciously. “He’s already skittish enough, your behaviour is wholly inappropriate.”

“I’m not the one that told us to go to Oregon in the middle of an ongoing alien convention,” Priest replies.

“But you’re not helping matters, either,” Norton snaps, pulling his shirt off, followed by his undershirt. He briefly looks over his wound; he thinks it’s stopped bleeding, and it doesn’t seem to be seeping through the bandages, so he pulls the grey t-shirt on. It’s two sizes too big, but he’s not about to sleep topless when Priest is going to be in the bed with them.

Dirk comes back out of the bathroom as Norton’s pulling his pants off, fiddling with the too-long sleeves of the sweater Norton had given him. He hovers in the doorway of the bathroom, hesitantly looking over at Priest.

“I think we should go to the convention,” he says. “Tomorrow.”

Priest is sitting on his side of the bed, pulling his boots off. “Is that so,” he says as he unsheathes his nasty knife.

Dirk’s eyes widen as he stares at it, looking like a deer caught in the headlights. Priest either doesn’t notice, or doesn’t care, placing the knife on the short table next to the bed before lying down over the covers and stretching his arms over his head.

“We can go into town first thing in the morning,” Norton says, climbing onto the middle of the bed and patting the only empty space left to his right. “You can have this side, petal,” he tells Dirk kindly.

Dirk looks impossibly relieved, quickly joining him, burrowing under the covers and managing to pull them up to his chin despite the fact that more than half of it is caught under Norton and Priest’s combined weight.

“You’ll wake me up, won’t you?” Dirk asks him almost shyly. “I’m no good at that on my own.”

Norton runs a hand through Dirk’s scalp, smiling. “Of course, love,” he says. “I’ll make sure Priest keeps his hands to himself, as well.”

Dirk blushes slightly, shaking his head. “Thanks, Norton,” he says, smiling brightly. “You’re a great new-assistant.”

Norton raises a brow at that, unsure of what that actually means, but Dirk’s already closing his eyes. To Norton’s surprise, his breathing evens out almost immediately, and he realizes that Dirk’s already asleep.

“That’s admirable,” Norton mutters to himself, envious of the man’s ability to simply shut down like that.

“I don’t need sleep,” Priest says suddenly, and Norton looks over at him questioningly. “I’ll keep an eye out for any more aliens. You should get some rest, you look dead on your feet.”

Norton feels himself smirking, and he rolls over onto his side to face Priest, poking him with a finger. “Is big, bad Mr. Priest _concerned_ for dear, little Norton?” he asks playfully. “Count my lucky stars!”

Priest snorts, rolling over to face Norton as well, and Norton’s breath catches in his throat, their noses almost touching. “You wouldn’t last in a fight, state you’re in right now,” Priest rumbles at him. “Can’t protect yourself, let alone Svlad.”

Norton feels a pang of disappointment at Priest’s words, though he knows it’s irrational to feel that way. He huffs and moves to turn over onto his back again, hoping Priest hadn’t noticed, but of course, Priest being Priest, he had. He grabs a hold of Norton’s arm before he can really move, keeping him still.

“Somethin’ bad’s gonna happen tomorrow,” Priest says softly. “Can’t risk letting anythin’ happen to either of you.”

Something constricts in Norton’s chest at Priest’s tone, an unfamiliar feeling he refuses to examine too closely, so he tries in vain to dismiss Priest’s words. Except, Priest is annoyingly good at catching him off guard, because the man suddenly brushes the back of his hand over Norton’s bruised chin, and the constricting feeling gets a whole lot worse.

“Think you grew on me when you called me a pissbag,” Priest grins, giggling and ruining the moment.

“You _are_ a pissbag,” Norton manages to bite out, eliciting another giggle.

“Sleep,” Priest tells him, pulling away and rolling over to sit up. Norton catches himself before he can ask the man to stay, but it leaves his skin feeling achingly cold where Priest had touched him. “I’ll keep any monsters away,” he says jokingly as he gets out of the bed.

“How chivalrous of you,” Norton mutters, watching him as he goes over to his duffel and pulls out a tablet.

Priest settles down on the floor at the foot of the bed, starts scrolling through something, and Norton reluctantly falls asleep staring at the back of his head.


	5. Ghosts. Dead people?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reference for Project Cerberus can be found here: [Project Cerberus's Data File](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15859788/chapters/36944223).
> 
> Also, it's only Tuesday and I'm updating. Ho-lee shee-it.

Norton wakes up to find himself tangled in a mess of Dirk.

The other man’s got his arms wrapped tightly around Norton’s waist, fingers clutched tight in his t-shirt, and his legs are intertwined between Norton’s. Norton’s half-hard, which makes their positions terribly inconvenient, especially when Dirk shifts and unwittingly presses his thigh harder against Norton’s groin.

Norton hears the toilet flushing loudly and looks over to see Priest leaning against the bathroom’s door frame, arms crossed over his chest as he leers at them. He’s completely dressed and looks fresh as a daisy, which is very unfair.

“Not a _word_ ,” Norton hisses at him.

Priest just giggles, shrugging. “Wasn’t goin’ to,” he says, eyes roving down to where Norton’s little problem is slowly turning into a bigger one the longer Priest’s eyes linger.

Norton reaches for the nearest projectile he can get - which happens to be Priest’s abandoned pillow - and throws it as hard as he can at the man. Priest dodges it easily, giggling.

“Get out,” Norton snaps at him, though Priest is already heading for the door.

“You can borrow one of my jackets,” Priest calls back at Norton as he closes the door behind him.

Alone with Dirk, Norton breathes in deeply as he tries to think of how to untangle the other man from him. Dirk’s grip is surprisingly strong around him, and when Norton tries to pull his hands out of his t-shirt, Dirk mumbles something incoherently and clenches tighter, nuzzling his face into the crook of Norton’s neck. Norton nearly faints as he feels Dirk’s warm breaths assault his skin, and decides to just wake the man up, to hell with saving either of them the humiliation.

“Dirk,” Norton calls out, patting Dirk’s back gently. “Dirk, darling, wake up, please.”

Dirk mumbles again, but otherwise doesn’t show any signs of having heard him. Norton pats a little harder. “Dirk,” he repeats. “Dirk, for goodness’ sake, wake up!”

Dirk groans, shaking his head and somehow managing to wrap tighter around Norton. “Five more minutes,” comes a muffled protest.

Norton rolls his eyes, grabbing Dirk firmly by the shoulders and shoving him back none too gently. “Get off me,” he grunts, and Dirk falls back all the way off the side of the bed with a loud thump.

“I’m awake!” he shouts, sitting up, hair a mess and looking around wildly.

Norton almost feels bad for it, but his erection disagrees firmly with his conscience. He quickly climbs off the other side of the bed, making a beeline for the bathroom before Dirk might notice his predicament.

“I’ll shower first,” he says hurriedly, slamming the door shut behind him and leaning back against it.

“Norton?” he faintly hears Dirk say confusedly from the room.

“Won’t take long, petal!” Norton calls out to him, looking down at his cock straining against the material of his briefs. “Calm down, you,” he hisses quietly at it, willing it to go down.

It stubbornly refuses to cooperate, _of course_.

\---

Priest is talking into his earpiece next to the car by the time Dirk and Norton exit the room, about an hour later.

There’re a lot more cars in the day, Norton observes, the lot nearly full, and he grudgingly concedes that Priest hadn’t been lying about the motel being fully booked the night before. He’s not planning on saying that out loud, though.

“So, it ain’t dead?” Norton hears Priest saying into his earpiece. “Did you find out who it was working for?” Priest’s eyes narrow at Norton as the two of them approach him. “Right, and about the ‘others’?” Priest asks, humming thoughtfully as whoever is on the other line answers him. “Well, I’ll keep you updated on our progress.”

“Adams?” Norton guesses when Priest clicks on the earpiece, hanging up. “Was that about the alien?”

Priest nods, eyeing Norton, still. “It wasn’t dead,” he says. “It regenerated by the time they got to Blackwing with it, Ken said. Unlike the one in Svlad’s hotel room, this one’s brain was in the right place. Need to sever its head to permanently kill it.”

Dirk chokes next to Norton, looking green. “That’s useful information to have,” he says weakly.

“Let’s get going,” Norton says, pitying the man. “We could ask locals about any odd events lately before the convention gets into full swing. Also, I’m _famished_.”

Dirk brightens at the mention of food, eagerly moving past them to get into the car. “We should get waffles!” he says as he slams the door shut.

Norton smiles fondly after him, but the smile slips off the moment he turns back to Priest. “What did you want to know?” he asks him warily.

“The Committee,” Priest says carefully. “That the people you pissed off?”

Norton hesitates for only a split second before deciding to be honest. “Yes,” he says, nodding.

“The same Committee you’re having nightmares about?” Priest probes, and Norton frowns.

“I haven’t been having nightmares,” he denies, but Priest is shaking his head.

“Not last night,” he says. “When you were in the infirmary.”

Norton’s frown deepens. He has no recollection at all of his time in Blackwing’s medical care, and it’s another unfair advantage Priest has over him.

“I don’t recall them,” he says flatly. “But there’s only one Committee I’m aware of, so it’s a logical conclusion.”

Priest stares at him, contemplative, then says, “Found you in the CIA’s database last night,” which sends an apprehensive feeling crawling up Norton’s spine. “You were head of Torchwood London for over a decade, and then you went MIA in 1967.”

“And?” Norton presses when Priest doesn’t go on.

Priest purses his lips, and Norton can’t help but stare as that pulls at the scar along his face. “While Torchwood doesn’t seem to be tryin’ to actively look for you,” Priest says quietly, “you’re still listed internationally as a person of interest wanted for questioning; something about treason and suspicion of corruption.”

“Bravo, Agent Priest,” Norton congratulates him sarcastically, though he wonders how the CIA had managed to get their hands on his profile when he’d made sure to erase all traces of himself from the Torchwood Archive that dated beyond his ‘disappearance’. “Did you want a reward for managing to dig that up yourself?”

Norton’s shocked when Priest grabs his arm suddenly and shoves him up against the side of the car, leaning close into Norton’s face. “If you drag Svlad into any of the shit that you’re in, you can be sure I’ll be one of the bounty hunters comin’ after you,” Priest swears darkly, and Norton knows he means every single word from the storm brewing behind his eyes. “Is that clear?”

“Crystal,” Norton bites out at him, glaring.

He hears one of the doors opening, then Dirk’s hesitantly asked, “Is everything alright?”

“No need for concern, love,” Norton answers without looking. “Get back inside, we’re just leaving.”

There’s silence around them for an agonizingly long moment, then the sound of the door closing again, and Priest finally lets go of his hold on Norton.

The drive into town is blanketed in an oppressive silence, which even Dirk doesn’t dare to break. Norton actively avoids looking at Priest the whole way, and even though he feels bad for Dirk, he can’t help but resent that Priest’s priority will always be Dirk’s safety.

\---

Dirk insists they have waffles at a diner called ‘Angry Oak’s’, which begs the question of who is Oak, and why he’s so angry.

The place is mostly empty, but they settle into a little booth in the back of the place for more privacy anyway, where a waitress is almost immediately by their side to take their orders. Dirk lists off a number of items without pause, as if he’s been eating there all his life, and Norton decides to follow suit, though most of the foods Dirk had asked for sound sickeningly sweet.

“So,” Dirk starts once the waitress has left. He looks over at Norton eagerly, and Norton has a feeling it’s only because he can’t bear to look at Priest. “Have you noticed?” he asks Norton expectantly.

Norton raises a brow at him. “Noticed what?” he asks, almost wary of Dirk’s answer.

Dirk rolls his eyes, shaking his head. “No, you have to try, at least,” he insists. “You’re the assistant.”

Amused, Norton gives in. “Alright, then,” he says, trying to think of something. “Are you referring to the suspiciously empty streets, or the fact that you seem to know exactly what to order without even glancing at the menu?”

Dirk lights up at his guesses, pleased beyond reason. “Yes!” he exclaims. “To the empty streets, not the ordering thing. That was because I had a craving for a coconut-jackfruit ice cream sandwich.”

“Yes, and that’s perfectly normal for you, isn’t it?”

Dirk ignores that, continuing, “Now, the question we should be asking is, why are the streets empty when the whole town’s been booked to the brim with UFO enthusiasts for this convention thing? _Where_ is everyone, actually?”

The waitress comes back as Dirk finishes talking, placing their drinks on the table - an orange juice for Dirk and two cups of tea for Norton and Priest - and she doesn’t leave immediately. Instead, she lingers by their booth, smiling warmly.

“So, are you three here for the UFO convention?” she asks in a friendly tone.

Dirk perks up at her question, practically leaning over the table and Norton as he moves closer to speak to the waitress.

“Why, _yes_ ,” he pauses, glances at her nametag, and smiles wider at her, “Amy! As a matter of fact, we _are_.” In a lower, more mysterious tone, he says, “I’m a Holistic Detective and we’re here to investigate a case of _kidnapping_.”

The smile on Amy’s face wavers as her eyes widen. “Detective?” she echoes. “Kidnapping? That sounds serious.” She glances between the three of them, pausing momentarily on Priest before looking back at Dirk. “Pardon my saying so, but you don’t _look_ like detectives,” she says unsurely.

Dirk shakes his head almost patronizingly. “A detective that looks like a detective is usually not a very good one,” he says. “Tends to send suspects running, don’t you think?”

Amy still looks sceptical, but smiles weakly. “If you say so,” she says.

Dirk nods, satisfied, and Norton rolls his eyes. “Speaking of suspects,” he says, drawing Amy’s attention to himself. “Could you tell us where everyone’s gone? We couldn’t help but notice that the streets were empty the whole way here from where we’re staying.”

“Oh, that’s normal,” Amy says, chuckling. “We have a small population and most of us work out of town. But if you’re talking about the conventionists, then they’re all over in the fields, near the mountains in the east.”

“Fields, you say?” Norton asks.

“Yup. You can only really see the lights at night, but most of them set up camp there so they don’t miss them. Eventually, they just started drawing the tents out there. We only ever see them in town when they’ve run out of food or need a shower.”

“What lights?” Priest asks, and Amy is a bit more nervous to answer him.

“The UFO lights,” she says, smile faltering again. “Some years they don’t show up at all, but that doesn’t stop the conventionists from swarming there, anyway.”

Someone from the front of the diner calls out Amy’s name, and she smiles at them sheepishly and excuses herself.

“UFO lights,” Norton says after she’s left, looking over at Priest. “Does Blackwing know anything about that?”

Priest shrugs. “Not Blackwing’s area,” he says. “I freelanced for Torchwood DC in Nevada and Kentucky. Didn’t know Oregon had any aliens.”

“Interesting,” Norton observes, and Dirk butts in, practically bouncing in his seat. “ _Very_ interesting,” he agrees.

They ask Amy for more specific directions to the fields she’d mentioned after they finish their food. She’s kind enough to give them a map, which the diner apparently keeps stock of on account of the convention. On the way out, Priest bumps into someone, who curses up a storm until they actually see him.

“You!” the person exclaims, pointing a finger at him. “You’re that asshole that shot through his hotel room’s ceiling!”

Dirk, who had been following behind Priest, gasps loudly and points back at the man. “You’re the receptionist at Hotel Nirvana!” he says.

The man sees him, eyes widening as he looks between Dirk and Norton, who’s standing next to him. “There’s _two_ of you?” he shouts. “That makes so much sense!”

They’re drawing attention from the scarce patrons of the diner with the commotion, so Norton has the sense to grab the receptionist’s arm and drag him out the door, ignoring his protests. Norton doesn’t let go until he’s got the man in the parking lot behind the diner, and pushes him against their SUV.

“What are you doing here?” Norton demands, drawing his gun and pointing it at the man, who yelps and throws his hands over his head and presses back against their car.

“Whoa, man, don’t shoot!” the receptionist shouts. “It’s cool, okay? I got fired after you guys trashed the room, so, like, it doesn’t even matter to me!”

“Norton!”

Dirk runs up to stand between Norton and the receptionist, hands raised in front of him and looking at the gun with fear.

“Move aside, petal, this man could be an alien bounty hunter following us,” Norton tells Dirk, trying to not sound irritated by Dirk’s careless action of throwing himself between a loaded weapon and an unknown man.

“I’m not!” the receptionist protests, and Norton points his gun over Dirk’s shoulder, right at his head, and he shrieks, ducking down.

“He’s _not_ an alien, Norton, I mean, look at him!” Dirk says desperately. “He’s cowering from you! I highly doubt an alien bounty hunter would be afraid of your tiny gun!”

Norton lowers his gun, if only because he takes offense to that. “My gun is _not_ tiny,” he says defensively.

Dirk’s hands fall down to his sides as he gives Norton a pitying look. “Well, compared to Priest,” he starts, and Norton slaps a hand to his forehead in exasperation.

“You can’t compare a _gun_ to an assault rifle, Dirk,” Norton says loudly. “They’re completely different classes of firearms!”

“They all go ‘bang, bang’, die, don’t they!” Dirk protests.

“It’s very much more complicated than that,” Norton tries to explain, noticing belatedly that the receptionist is sneaking away behind Dirk. “Stop right there, poppet!” Norton shouts pointing his gun back at the man, but the receptionist dives under another car, crawling away surprisingly quickly.

Norton hurries to the other side of the vehicle, but Priest is already waiting there, grabbing the receptionist by the back of his shirt collar and pulling him up to his feet. The receptionist yelps, but freezes when he realizes who’s grabbed a hold of him.

“Hi, there,” Priest says, giggling, and the receptionist promptly pisses his pants.

\---

“I swear, I’m just here to see the stupid lights!” the receptionist, whose name is apparently Brooke, insists fearfully. “I just lost my job, man, and some guy at a pub said there were alien sightings in Oregon and offered me a ride! It wasn’t like I had anything else going on in my life!”

He’s sitting in a borrowed pair of boxers on their bed back at the motel, shaking uncontrollably and cowering from Priest, who’s standing in front of him with his rifle held casually in one hand. Norton is leaning against the wall to the left of the bed, Dirk standing next to him and wringing his hands nervously.

“I think he’s telling the truth,” Dirk tells Norton quietly, looking at him with pleading eyes. “We should just let him go, yes?”

“Didn’t you say everything is connected?” Norton replies, steadfastly not looking at Dirk because he knows he’s not strong enough to deny those puppy eyes anything. “This man must be here for a reason other than the fact that we’d gotten him sacked.”

“You just lost your job, so you decide to up and go on a road trip with a stranger you just met in a bar?” Priest is asking their captive rhetorically. “Now, I don’t know about you, but that does sound, uh, mighty suspicious to my ears, Mr. Miller.”

Brooke groans loudly, throwing his head down in his hands and leaning forward in his lap. “It’s the truth,” he bemoans. “Jeez, I knew I shouldn’t have gotten that drunk.”

Priest huffs out a laugh. “Let’s say we believe you,” he starts, “What were you planning after you saw these lights? Hitch another ride out of town?”

Brooke straightens back up slowly, looking pitiably lost. “Maybe?” he says. “I don’t know, I thought I could get another job here, stay awhile, save enough money to go somewhere else.” His face pinches, like he’s caught a bad smell, and he adds spitefully, “Why do you care, it’s none of your business.”

Priest rolls his eyes, aiming the rifle at him, and Brooke shrieks in alarm, throwing his hands up. “It’s our business until you decide to tell us the real reason why you’re here,” Priest says easily.

“That _is_ the real reason,” Brooke whimpers.

“Mr. Priest, _please_ ,” Dirk says, looking and sounding just as distressed as Brooke.

Priest ignores them both, cocking the rifle and pointing it steadily at Brooke’s face, and Norton moves, then, deciding that they really don’t actually need to draw any attention to themselves with any shootouts. Or dead bodies, for that matter.

“Priest,” he says, approaching the man. “Perhaps we should all just take a deep breath and calm ourselves down.”

Priest nods down at Brooke, not even looking at Norton. “Just a little more,” he mutters.

Confused, Norton looks to Brooke. The man looks more terrified than ever, pupils contracted as he stares wide-eyed at the muzzle of the rifle in his face. Norton doesn’t understand what Priest means, not until a moment later when Brooke’s expression freezes suddenly, like someone had pressed a pause button on it.

Norton watches as Brooke’s face changes rapidly into something else, going from terrified to relaxed and serene in a surreal transformation. It’s almost as if he’s changed entirely, looking like someone else altogether, and it’s more pronounced when he lowers his hands and crosses his legs daintily, a wan smile forming on his lips.

“Mr. Priest,” he coos, his voice higher, more feminine. “I knew you’d catch on quickly.”

Priest lowers his rifle, grinning down at Brooke. “Cerce,” he says, nodding. “Thought I recognized those eyes. How many of you are there, up in that pretty little head?”

Norton stares in amazement when Brooke - or Cerce - giggles coyly, one hand rising to cover his mouth. “You were always very smart,” he says, pushing imaginary hair behind his ear. “I’m sorry for hiding. Scott always said Brooke should try taking charge more. He’s so very sensitive, but switching between three of us confuses normal people.”

“Oh my god,” Dirk mutters quietly behind Norton. “ _You’re_ a project?”

Cerce nods at Dirk, smiling at him widely. “Yes; Project Cerberus, at your service,” he says. “And you’re Icarus, aren’t you? The Universe told me you’d be here. I’m supposed to help you solve a case.”

Dirk makes that cat-with-a-hairball sound of his, stumbling forward until he’s kneeling on the floor next to Brooke.

“What else did the Universe tell you?” he asks eagerly, looking like a child. “Do you know how to fix it?”

Cerce shakes his head, looking sad now. “No, nothing like that,” he says. “I just got a vision of this town, and I’ve seen a lot of dead people around that shouldn’t be dead yet.”

Dirk frowns, looking just as confused as Norton feels. It’s Priest that explains, “Cerberus is mildly clairvoyant. They see ghosts, and ghosts of people that are about to die.”

“Ghosts,” Norton echoes, feeling an urge to bang his head against the nearest wall. “Dead people?” he asks, just to clarify.

Cerce nods, looking up at Norton. “You look like a ghost, too,” he tells him. “Like you’re not completely here. I thought you were Icarus’s ghost, at first, but other people could see you, too, and no one else ever sees the ghosts like me.”

Norton shudders at his words, shaking his head, but he has no idea how to respond to that.

“Something bad is going to happen here,” Cerce tells Priest. “We need to stop it. That’s why we got Brooke to leave with the strange man in the bar.”

“Who else are you, Cerce?” Priest asks.

“Seb sometimes comes out when we have to hurt someone,” Cerce says, smiling. “He’s very strong. He hates you, too, but I think it’s because he’s jealous that you like me.”

“You have to hurt people?” Dirk asks Cerce, voice straining.

Cerce nods, turning back to Dirk. “You could consider us a Holistic Preventive Measure; we avert crises wherever we need to. Sometimes people try to stop us, so we have to stop them first. Or a _lot_ of people will get hurt.”

Dirk looks less distressed at his explanation. “And there’s going to be one here, in this town?” he asks. “I was given a case that led me here. I’m looking for someone that was kidnapped by aliens.”

“You never mentioned that before,” Norton cuts in, feeling scandalized. “You just said case, and kidnapping!”

Dirk gives him an apologetic look. “Sorry?” he tries sheepishly. “I didn’t think it would make a difference.”

Norton shoots him a flat stare. “We are having words about this,” he says, then turns to point an accusatory finger at Priest. “And _you_. You’re going to tell me about every single damned Blackwing Project.”

Priest shrugs. “I only brought in 30 out of 42 of them,” he says. “You could just read their files, you know. Ken had them digitized.”

“And _when_ , exactly, were you planning on telling me that?” Norton demands.

Priest shrugs, again, adding to Norton’s irritation. “You never asked,” he says, which, fair point.

“I didn’t think we’d run into any of them, to be honest,” Norton says.

“I told Ken we would,” Priest reminds him.

Rolling his eyes, Norton retorted, “I thought you were lying to get him to agree to let us go.”

Priest actually looks somewhat offended at that, stating, “I don’t lie.”

“Excuse me,” Cerce says suddenly, drawing both Norton and Priest’s attention to him. “I think you should know, there’re more ghosts walking through the room right now. Maybe you can argue about this _after_ we stop whatever disaster is going to happen first?”

\---

“Our parents kept us in the basement most of the time,” Cerce is telling Dirk in the backseat of the car as they drive towards the convention. “They loved us, but they thought all the people we said were going to die died because of us. They didn’t want us to get into trouble.”

Dirk is listening raptly, expression fleeting between sympathy and horror as Cerce recounts their childhood. “That must have been terribly lonely, though,” Dirk says quietly, sympathetic.

Cerce smiles serenely, shaking their head. “That’s why Brooke made me and Seb,” they say. “Brooke doesn’t know; he forgets everything if he’s not in control. He thinks the basement and Blackwing are just nightmares from a horror movie he watched.” In a quieter tone, they add, “I think if he knew, he’d fall apart.”

Dirk nods, brows furrowing as he appears to think of something deeply. “How many crises have you managed to avert, Cerce?” he asks.

Cerce shrugs casually, counting on one hand, finger by finger. “A few?” they say. “They’re not always so huge. One time, I stole someone’s keys so they wouldn’t cause a six-vehicle pile up from drunk-driving. Another time, the Universe told me to have sex with a man that worked in a nuclear plant. He was suicidal, and was planning on throwing himself into one of the reactors. That would’ve wiped out the whole town. Oh, and I found this cat that was a shark, and took care of it for a while so it wouldn’t freak out and bite people’s heads off.”

“Kitten-shark!” Dirk exclaims.

Cerce smiles brightly. “You know her?” they ask.

“Yes, she murdered my first employer in the US,” Dirk tells them. “Not on purpose, of course, poor thing was just confused. I lost track of her when Friedkin took me back to Blackwing, and then she turned back up at my agency before disappearing again.”

Cerce nods as Dirk explains, as if it all makes complete sense. Norton silently envies their acceptance, but it’s probably a part of their holistic-universe thing.

“Well, she disappeared one day when I woke up,” Cerce says. “I think she’s got the wanderlust.”

The car stops abruptly, breaks shrieking and wheels scraping loudly against the asphalt, and Norton chokes as he’s thrown forward against his seatbelt before bouncing back painfully into his seat.

“What the hell!” he yells, glaring over at Priest before checking over Dirk and Cerce in the back. The two of them look winded and dazed, but otherwise unharmed, clutching at each other for dear life.

“Project Incubus,” Priest giggles, putting the car into park and pulling up the handbrake before grabbing his assault rifle.

Norton looks out the windshield to see a van blocking the road, parked across it and looking for all the world like it belongs there. It looks run-down and decrepit, graffitied to the point that you can’t even tell what colour it once was, and a bearded, mohawked blonde man jumps out of the driver’s seat with a baseball bat clutched in his hand.

Priest gets out of the car, but not before telling Norton, “Take the wheel, keep goin’ and don’t stop for anythin’.”

Norton doesn’t have time to argue, as Priest slams the door shut and makes his way to the front of the car, standing toe to toe with the blonde stranger. Behind the man, three more people appear from the van, crowding around Priest and yelling at him loudly enough that Norton can hear them from inside the car. One of the strangers, a short, Asian-looking boy with a cowlick and a pair of manic eyes, looks over at Norton, looking excited as he starts pointing and jumping wildly.

Norton unbuckles his seatbelt quickly, climbing over the centre console and slipping into the driver’s seat as fast as humanly possible. The Asian boy is moving towards them, and Norton doesn’t bother with the seatbelt, putting the car into reverse and hitting the gas as hard as he can.

They drag backwards painfully slow, and Norton switches gears and drives off the road, just barely avoiding the Asian boy. He catches Priest’s eyes as he drives past them, and the man looks _exhilarated_ , like he’s about to do something other than get beaten up by a group of ruffians, and Norton curses under his breath as he drives ahead, hoping Priest was right when he’d said he couldn’t die.

“Wait, stop!” Dirk calls out suddenly, and Norton glances back at him from the rearview mirror to see him looking out the back window. “Amanda!”

Norton sees a girl standing in the middle of the road behind them, but she doesn’t seem to be moving. She’s just staring, and Norton is glad that she’s getting smaller and smaller the further away they drive.

“You _know_ those people?” Norton demands, almost hysterically.

“Amanda’s Todd’s sister!” Dirk explains, turning around and leaning forward between the front seats to grab Norton’s shoulder. “We have to go back, she’ll know if he’s alright!”

Norton shakes his head, gripping the steering wheel tightly under his hands. “ _No_ , not a chance in hell,” he snaps. “They looked _deranged_ , Dirk! Did you not _see_ the way they _looked_ at us?”

“But they’re my friends!” Dirk insists, sounding desperate. “They wouldn’t hurt me, and if I could just explain to them that you’re not working for Blackwing willingly, they won’t hurt you, either!” He pauses, hesitatingly adding, “Maybe.”

Norton laughs, and it sounds unhinged even to his own ears. “I’ll consider that when we’re not running for our lives, how about that?” he says. “And _please_ , sit back down, it’s hard enough driving on the wrong side of the damned road!”

Dirk squeaks when Norton swerves suddenly, scarcely managing to avoid a beaver - of _all things_ \- dashing across the road from out of nowhere. All three of them scream when the car starts careening into oncoming traffic, and Norton just about manages to avoid another car coming at them, only to lose control and send them spinning in the middle of the road. Norton’s banged his head against the wheel by the time the car’s engine dies, and they’ve stopped moving at all.

Norton’s stunned, vision swimming as he leans heavily against the wheel. He tries to move, worried how Dirk and Cerce are, but sitting up only results in him collapsing back against his seat. He hears a door opening, tries to call out to Dirk, but then his own door is being pulled open and Norton blearily makes out a figure leaning down towards him, sniffing at his head.

“Bugger off,” he tries to say, struggling weakly when hands unbuckle his seatbelt and start dragging him out of the car.

“Good, you’re worth more alive than dead,” he faintly hears someone say, followed by a laugh.

He’s being dragged across the road, towards the side where trees are growing densely into a forest, and Norton can see Dirk and Cerce receiving the same treatment a few feet away, although they both have the luck of still being on their feet.

“Let them go,” Norton slurs, digging his heels into the dirt and grass beneath him, but his captor simply cuffs him on the side of the head, which causes a worrying ringing in his ears.

“Don’t worry, princess, you’re all going to the same place,” says the same voice from before. “Now sleep, before I have to bruise you up any more.”

There’s a stinging in the side of his neck that makes Norton flinch, and Norton only has enough sense to realize that it’s a needle before everything goes black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hiiii.
> 
> 1- Again, the Torchwood background? Pure speculation.
> 
> 2- Cerce is pronounced _sir-see_ , in case you were wondering.
> 
> 3- IDK WHAT I'M DOING WITH THE ROWDY 3 OMFG, I HOPE I DON'T PISS THEM OFF BY WRITING THEM BADLY.
> 
> 4- Norton's gonna start getting hurt a lot; his story arc has officially begun.


	6. It just crawled out of Satan's ass.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Seb being a badass and Norton getting hurt a lot. Also, Dirk is _completely_ unprepared to face his feelings while Priest is just generally bad at them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's more violence here than ever before, and Priest and Seb basically kill an alien. It's brief, but quite ghastly. Also, Priest and Dirk have _a talk_. Or several short talks; opinions differ.

_Norton’s dreaming._

_He knows he is, because he’s back in 1953, Torchwood London, sitting in his big, new chair behind his big, new desk, where the plate that says ‘VICAR’ on it is lying facedown on one corner. A projection of one of the Committee members is sitting in a wheelchair across from him, his borrowed, aged face pulled down in a ghastly frown._

_“Think carefully on this, Norton,” the old man warns, his eyes narrowing._

_He looks like a sick bird, but Norton knows better than to not be afraid._

_“I can’t do it,” Norton hears himself say. He sounds pleading and desperate, nothing like his usual self. “You can’t expect me to go along with that.”_

_“You knew the consequences,” the old man says, voice booming. “Don’t tell me you’ve grown a heart,” he adds, mocking with every syllable. “Norton Folgate, reformed traitor. Torchwood would sooner burn you.”_

_“I won’t try to stop you,” Norton begs. “I’ll look the other way, pretend we never met. Don’t make me do this.”_

_“You forget who saved your wretched life,” the old man sneers. “Do you think the world will care if you die trying to save it?”_

_“I don’t care what the world thinks!” Norton says loudly, standing up. “I won’t have its blood on my hands, I_ can’t _.”_

_“Then your blood will be on ours,” declares the old man. “The Committee does not forgive.”_

\---

Norton wakes up screaming.

Everything is dark, and his arms are restrained above his head, and no matter how hard he thrashes, he can’t free himself. He feels suffocatingly _trapped_ , and it’s only when whatever is over his eyes is pulled off and he’s blinded by bright lights that he’s able to breathe, gasping in deep, long breaths.

When his eyes finally adjust, he wishes he’d stayed asleep.

He’s in the middle of a room, white and bare and sterile, and across from him are Dirk and Cerce, tied up with rope back to back to a metal bench. Standing beside them is a familiar face, a grey-skinned shapeshifter the Committee only calls The Hive.

“You remember this room,” the Hive says, echoing, resounding with the thousand voices of an extinct planet’s population. “We are impressed.”

_How could he forget?_

The last time he’d failed the Committee, he’d spent three days in an exact replica of this room; three agonizingly long, painful days spent constantly veering between the edge of death and drowning in mind-numbing pain, the Hive his only company; his judge, juror and now, soon-to-be executioner.

A part of Norton had died in those three days, and he can’t let the same thing happen to Dirk and Cerce.

“Let them go,” Norton says, begging, knowing from experience that there’s no other way to speak to this monster, not if you wanted even a chance of it listening. “Please, they have nothing to do with Torchwood.”

The Hive laughs, and its face shifts, changing rapidly into Norton’s. “Oh, but this one looks just like you!” it trills in Norton’s voice, only it still sounds like a collective, not a singular man. “We bet he’ll scream just as pretty as you, too!”

“No!” Norton yells, straining against his restraints.

The Hive moves until it’s standing in front of Dirk, leaning down to stare curiously into Dirk’s face. Dirk squeaks, frightened, the sound muffled behind the gag they’ve pulled over his mouth, and he recoils back against Cerce.

“I’ll give you the artefact!” Norton says desperately, gaining the Hive’s attention.

The Hive straightens up, looks over at him with gleaming, pitch-black eyes that lack scleras. “My, my,” the Hive says, head tilting as it stares at him. “Norton Folgate, what _are_ you up to, we wonder?”

“Let them go and I’ll give you the artefact,” Norton says in a rush, glancing at Dirk and Cerce, wondering the same thing the Hive is. He doesn’t have any plans, to be honest, but he’s desperate for the Hive to let them go.

Norton’s survived it twice in his life time, and he knows for a fact that neither Cerce nor Dirk will be able to endure its cruelty. He can’t let the Hive touch them. Priest had said the Universe would protect Dirk, but Norton’s not willing to risk that theory in practice.

“No tricks,” Norton tells the Hive, unable to restrain a shudder as the Hive steps away from Dirk and closer to him. “You know I have it and the Committee wants it. If you let them go, I’ll tell you how to take it out of me, and you can bring me back to the Committee, I won’t even fight you.”

The Hive is standing inches away from his face by the time he’s finished speaking, and Norton flinches when it reaches up with one hand, running long, spindly fingers through Norton’s hair. Its touch is freezing cold - painful like frostbite - but it’s just the start.

 _This is nothing_ , Norton tells himself, hands clenching as he braces himself for worse to come. _This is just the beginning_.

“If only it were that easy,” the Hive says suddenly, and Norton screams when it digs its fingers into his scalp, and all he knows is pain tearing through every fibre of his body.

He can’t even struggle, his body’s gone into shock, and it probably lasts only for a second, but to Norton, it feels like _years_. By the time the Hive lets go, Norton is exhausted, hanging limply from his restraints, body spasming erratically as it tries to recover from the sudden attack.

“Our orders are to bring you back to the Committee alive,” the Hive says. “Only you. We would like to have fun again, Norton Folgate, and because you amuse us, we might consider releasing your friends unharmed. _If_ you keep us entertained.”

Norton almost sobs out loud, but barely manages to hold it back; it’s better than nothing. The Hive smiles brightly, its face shifting back to its original, grey monstrosity.

“We will be back in 1 of your earth hours,” says the Hive. “To have fun.”

Norton is dropped to the ground unceremoniously as the Hive walks away, his restraints disappearing. The Hive opens a door hidden in one of the white walls of the room and leaves without so much as a glance backward. It takes Norton longer than he’d like to pull himself together before he’s able to stumble over to Dirk and Cerce.

He unties the ropes first, and it’s a cowardly move, but he’s not ready to answer any questions. There’s not enough rope to keep them bound forever, though, and Dirk gets free first, tearing the gag off the moment he can reach for it.

“Who was that! _What_ was that!” he demands shakily. “ _What’s happening_!”

“Hush up, love,” Norton tells him, helping Cerce with their gag. They look shaken up, but their expression shifts suddenly as they look at Norton.

“That guy’s gonna blow up the town,” they say in a low, gravelly tone. “We should kill him.”

“Seb?” Norton tests, earning a curt nod. “Right, that’s just wonderful.”

He straightens up, turns to face Dirk and points at his own face. “I need you to punch me,” he says. “ _Hard_.”

Dirk’s eyes widen, and he takes a step back, hands rising defensively in front of him. “What? _Why_?” he asks shakily.

Norton grabs his wrists, holding him still, and looks him in the eyes. “This room is a physical projection of a terrible place extracted from my memories,” Norton explains slowly. “The only reason we can’t get out is because I _believe_ that it’s inescapable. Hit me, and disturb the projection.”

Dirk shakes his head, tugging his hands to get out of Norton’s grip, but Norton refuses to let go. “No, I can’t,” he protests, looking like he’s just realized something terrible, “That thing hurt you and the room was still intact! Why would me hitting you make a difference!”

Norton’s about to tell him a lie, anything to get Dirk to comply, when a hand grabs a hold of his shoulder and violently turns him around. Seb has a fist drawn back, ready to punch him, and Norton squeezes his eyes shut, bracing himself.

“He needs to be knocked out,” Seb tells Dirk before landing a firm, painful blow right into Norton’s right temple.

It feels like guilt, sour and familiar, gratefully embracing the darkness that follows.

\---

Dirk stares blankly as he watches Norton fall to the ground in a heap, out cold.

He doesn’t have time to examine his feelings, though - _panic worry alarm urgent urgent urgent something_ bad _is coming_ \- because Cerce, no, _Seb_ grabs his arm and starts pulling him towards a door that appears out of nowhere as the white walls surrounding them fade away, to be replaced by iron and steel.

“Wait, what about Norton?” Dirk asks frantically, looking over at where his look-alike is laying on the now-concrete floor.

Seb tugs him through the door, snapping, “No time! I can taste death in the air, we have to stop whatever that thing’s about to do _right now_!”

Dirk squeaks as he’s roughly pulled along, out into a dark, damp hallway with a low ceiling that has huge, steaming pipes running along it, and metal grilles on the floor. Seb seems to know exactly where they’re going, murmuring darkly to themselves, and Dirk wishes Cerce were there with him, instead. Or Norton.

His thoughts inevitably go back to his twin, and he worries at his bottom lip, wondering if Norton’s safe where they’d left him. Dirk shudders as he thinks back to Norton’s deafening scream when the monster-alien thing had touched him - a simple touch, and it had already seemed so _painful_ \- and seriously considers fighting Seb about going back for him. Norton had woken up _begging_ , and it had been such a jarring sight - Dirk had wondered what, exactly, had the thing done to him before that could reduce him to such a state.

He thinks of Norton’s shaken form, crumpled into himself on the floor, breathing like it was the only thing that was keeping him from falling apart, and Dirk doesn’t need the Universe to know that whatever the thing had done to him, _none of it was remotely good_.

Dirk’s snapped out of his thoughts when Seb comes to an abrupt halt in front of a huge, steel door with a complicated-looking lock on it, something with a keypad and a million and one buttons.

“Shit,” Seb says, and Dirk looks around them, spotting a shadow creeping round a corner at one end of the hall.

“Someone’s coming!” Dirk hisses at Seb in panic, whirling around to find somewhere to hide.

Seb curses again, grabbing Dirk by the back of his shirt collar and dragging him towards one side of the wall, where there’re two thick pipes running from the ceiling to the floor. Seb pushes Dirk between the wall and the pipes, pressing their fingers against their lips with a stern glare and Dirks makes a zipping motion over his mouth, nodding.

Seb turns around to peek past the pipes, just as the sound of heavy footsteps echo off the metal hallway.

“We will make the necessary preparations,” Dirk hears the weird, echoing voices of the monster-alien thing from before. “Norton Folgate has confirmed the continued existence of the Mark.”

There’s the sound of static, getting louder and louder along with the footsteps, the closer the alien gets to them, and then a distorted, old voice drawls in a sharp, British accent, “Good. Make sure he’s not _too_ damaged. We have use of him, still.”

“Of course, sir,” the alien says, sounding gleeful. “Do we have permission to proceed with clean-up?”

“Permission granted,” the other voice says, and there’s a loud, mechanical whirring before a gust of air blows through the hall, sending Dirk’s hair flying into his face.

He swipes at his face quickly, pushing his bangs aside, and then Seb moves closer to him, their back pressing against Dirk’s front, as the monster-alien thing walks past them, just inches away. Dirk feels his heart jump up into his throat, and he holds his breath, watching the thing move with wide eyes.

He can feel Seb tensing up in front of him, frozen stiff. Luckily, the thing doesn’t notice them at all, disappearing down to where they had come from, and Dirk breathes out a huge sigh of relief before a terrible thought occurs to him.

“It might be going back to Norton!” he hisses to Seb, who shakes their head.

“We’ll help him later,” Seb says dismissively, moving back towards the door, which is now open wide. “Here’s our chance!”

Dirk tries to protest, but Seb’s grabbing his arm again and pulling him towards the door. They’re incredibly strong, and Dirk huffs as he has no choice but to stumble after them, unless he’d like to be _literally_ dragged across the floors instead. Which is definitely _not_ a good idea.

The room beyond the door is huge and circular, the walls lined from floor to ceiling with endless monitors and several consoles with blinking buttons. In the centre is a wide, clear cylinder, tinted grey, and Dirk stares at it, gasping in shock when he makes out eerie, translucent faces pressing up against the glass like-

“Ghosts,” Seb says suddenly, tugging Dirk towards the other side of the room. “You see them, too, right? I think it’s using them to power this ship.”

“ _What_?” Dirk gasps. “So, the crisis-”

Seb shakes their head, stopping them in front of the longest console in the room and looking down at it with a frown.

“Do you know how to turn off an alien spaceship?” they ask Dirk seriously.

Dirk can’t help but scoff. “I can barely drive a car,” he tells them. A bit petulantly, he adds, “I bet _Norton_ would know.”

Seb rolls their eyes at him, but then there’s a loud beeping sound coming from the cylinder behind them, and they both jump in alarm.

“What’s happening?” Dirk asks frantically, watching as the faces in the cylinder start contorting, their expressions becoming horrified as they fly around within the container rapidly.

“I don’t know,” Seb says, grabbing a hold of Dirk’s hand. “Stay close.”

“Hello!” a tiny, female voice echoes from nowhere, and Dirk jumps again, looking around fearfully.

“It’s a ghost!” he hisses at Seb when he sees nothing, but the voice echoes again.

“Hello, is anyone up there?” it says, sounding hopeful and frustrated at the same time.

Dirk looks down, then, and realizes with a start that the floor is see-through beneath the grilles, and they’re directly above what looks like a warped version of a children’s bouncy-house, with orange walls that look squishy and inflatable chairs and mattresses. There’re four people in there, three of them sitting around looking tired and hopeless, while the only girl among them is standing on one of the chairs, looking up directly at Dirk.

“Hello?” she repeats, hands cupped around her mouth.

Dirk realizes that she can’t see them and lets go of Seb’s hand, dropping to his knees and shouting through the grille, “Yes! Hello, there!”

The girl looks shocked, stumbling backwards and off the chair, but the floor is squishy, too, so she doesn’t look like her fall to her bum hurts. In fact, she looks pretty ecstatic.

“Oh my god!” she says, excited. “Hey! My name’s Kenna Dent! Can you help us?”

“Kenna!” Dirk exclaims, resisting the urge to cheer. He’d known she looked familiar! “My name’s Dirk Gently! I’m a Holistic Detective and your dad hired me to find you! And I _have_! Hah!”

“My dad?” Kenna says, sounding relieved before an annoyed look settles on her face. “Please tell me he didn’t pay a single cent to that freak that took us!”

Dirk’s about to tell her that he has no idea, but then Seb grabs his shoulder and starts pulling him up to his feet.

“Be quiet!” Seb hisses at him. “That thing could come back any second!”

The beeping from the cylinder has stopped, but Dirk notices the ghosts still freaking out, and he looks back down at Kenna.

“Kenna!” he whispers as loudly as he dares. “Do you know how I can get you all out of there?”

Kenna looks around the room before back up at Dirk. “There aren’t any doors or windows,” she tells him. “And we just woke up in here, so I don’t know how we got in.”

Dirk looks up at Seb, who’s scowling deeply. “We need to find a way down there,” Dirk says.

Seb shakes their head. “We need to stop the alien,” they say insistently.

Before Dirk can argue further, the whole room shakes with a loud, resounding groan, and Dirk falls down onto his hands and knees as he loses balance.

“Is it an earthquake?” he asks in alarm when the room continues to shudder and sway, but Seb shakes their head again, looking around the room.

“I think we’re moving,” they say grimly.

“That doesn’t sound very good,” Dirk states, slowly getting back to his feet, ducking low to keep from falling down again. He looks down to find Kenna on the ground as well, holding one of the other occupants in the room comfortingly.

“What’s going on up there?” Kenna asks him, looking up worriedly.

“Not quite sure,” Dirk confesses, “But we’re going to find out, and then I’ll come back and figure out a way to free you!”

Kenna looks like she wants to argue about that, but then she purses her lips, a determined expression on her face as she nods, and says, “Alright, but please be quick? We’ve been here a _week_.”

“We’ll get you back to your dad, Kenna!” Dirk promises her, and she smiles up at him wryly.

“Thanks, Dirk,” she says.

Dirk smiles back, even though he knows she can’t see him. Then he looks over at Seb. “Press all the buttons until something works?” he suggests.

Seb tilts their head, considering it. “Don’t have any better ideas,” they say, shrugging.

The both of them turn around simultaneously, reaching for the console and smashing as many smashable buttons as they can. The lights change colours, and some of them make squeaking noises, but nothing happens until Dirk accidentally pulls a lever on the side of the console until it pops out of its stand.

“Oops?” he says, holding it up and looking over at Seb with wide eyes, just as the room jerks violently and stops shaking. Dirk grins. “I can’t believe that worked!” he cries out.

He speaks too soon, of course, because then the whole room starts tilting sideways dangerously, and Dirk and Seb grab onto the console to keep from falling to the floor, except the room isn’t done yet, turning and turning until the console is no longer on the floor. The _floor_ is no longer the floor, even, becoming the wall instead, and Dirk and Seb end up hanging a few feet above the wall that is now the floor.

“I can’t hold on!” Dirk shouts at Seb, losing his grip on the console, and Seb shouts back, “Just let go!”

Dirk gives him an unimpressed look at the suggestion, but he’s got no choice; his fingers slip completely and Dirk lands painfully on top of the monitors that used to be one of the walls, yelping. Seb lands next to him a moment later, much more gracefully and still on his feet. Dirk shoots him a look as Seb offers a hand down toward him. Dirk takes it grudgingly, wincing when his back twinges as he gets to his feet.

“I think we fell over,” Seb says, looking around the room.

“That’s not concerning at all,” Dirk says dryly, looking towards what used to be the floor. Surprisingly, Kenna and the other captives are still sitting down on their own floor, not at all affected by the new angle of the room. “ _Fascinating_ ,” Dirk says, looking at the scene curiously.

“Gravity field?” Seb guesses, looking at it, too.

“Aliens,” Dirk agrees wholeheartedly.

The ceiling, or the wall, now - the side of the room that _used_ to be the ceiling - groans loudly then, and Norton and Seb stare at it wide-eyed as it _opens_ , lifting up like a hatch, and sunlight filters in from the outside. Dirk covers his face with his arm, temporarily blinded, and then an ear-splitting shriek rings through the air.

“ _You_!” shouts the voice of the monster-alien thing, and Dirk lowers his arm to see it standing in the middle of the opening, an accusing finger pointed at Dirk. “How did you escape? We should’ve killed you when we had the chance!”

Dirk squeaks in alarm, raising his hands in front of him defensively as the thing strides forward, heading straight for him. Seb intercepts it, catching it by surprise with a hard punch to its jaw, and the thing staggers, grabbing at its cheek. Seb throws another punch at it, but it catches their fist before it can land, and it throws Seb to the side easily, sending them skidding across the monitors to the other side of the room, where they lay motionless.

The thing starts towards Dirk again, lunging at him with open arms, and Dirk quickly dives under its reach and to the side, running towards the hatch. He slides to a stop when he reaches the opening, eyes widening when he sees that he’s several feet in the air. The spaceship is circular, and the hatch is only in the centre of its top side, which means that even though it’s laying down on its side, it’s still quite the drop from the hatch to the ground.

Glancing over his shoulder, Dirk sees the thing a foot away from him and he promptly slides out the hatch, down the curve of its top with a terrified scream. He lands on the grassy ground with a grunt of pain, rolled onto his side to lessen the impact, and tries hard not to think of how much his body hurts.

“Dirk!” he hears Amanda’s voice, and he wonders if he’s died and gone to heaven before realizing that _Amanda’s_ not dead, and then something heavy and warm lands on him and he’s being pulled up and smothered in a hug. “You’re alive!”

“Amanda?” Dirk says dazedly, and Amanda pulls away to grin at him. “No, it’s the tooth fairy, dude,” she says sarcastically, rolling her eyes.

Dirk grins back at her, pulling her close to hug her again. “Oh my god, I’ve missed you!”

“We’ve been looking everywhere for you!” Amanda tells him as they pull apart again. “Todd and Farah have been worried _sick_ , they wouldn’t stop leaving me voicemails, crying their eyes out.”

Dirk’s grin becomes positively ecstatic as he asks, “Todd and Farah are alive?”

Amanda looks at him oddly, saying, “They’re not the ones that went missing.”

Before Dirk can respond, they both hear a loud crunching sound and turn to see a giant, metallic spider crawling down the side of the spaceship, heading towards them swiftly.

“What the fuck is that?” Amanda shouts in alarm, standing quickly and dragging Dirk up with her.

“We will kill you, Dirk Gently!” the spider thing screeches.

“Shapeshifting alien!” Dirk shouts at Amanda, grabbing her arms and pulling her along as he runs in the opposite direction of the spaceship. “It’s evil!”

“It looks like it just crawled out from Satan’s ass!” Amanda shouts at him as they run.

They’re in a flat field at the base of a mountain, and running up it before they realize. Amanda is running ahead of him, and Dirk follows her, gasping desperately for breath. He can hear the spider thumping the ground as it bounds after them, and his heart is hammering badly in his chest with fear and adrenaline.

“Over here!” Amanda shouts suddenly, taking a sharp turn along the side of the mountain path they’ve ended up on, and Dirk stumbles after her, nearly tripping over a stone on the way.

They’re headed for a line of trees growing into the mountains and Dirk gasps when dark shadows suddenly loom between the gaps of the tree trunks, skidding to a halt. Amanda stops when she realizes that he’s no longer following her, looking at him with panicked concern.

“What’re you doing?” she hisses at him.

Dirk points at the trees, shouting, “There’s something in there!”

Amanda rolls her eyes, huffing, “I _know_! Just trust me!”

Dirk looks behind him to see the spider thing less than ten feet away from him, and squeaks before scrambling to Amanda. She pulls him towards the treeline, before stopping and shouting, “C’mon guys! Just like we planned!”

Dirk yelps when what seems like hundreds of eyes flash between the trees, and they move forward until their owners are revealed in the daylight.

“ _Beavers_!” Dirk shouts incredulously, because that’s what they are; seemingly hundreds and hundreds of beavers standing upright like humans, reaching up to Dirk’s waist and marching with purpose from the trees and towards the spider thing.

“Take cover, witchakookoo,” one of the beavers says as it - _he_? - passes by Dirk and Amanda.

Amanda waves him away, saying, “Just worry about yourselves, that thing looks rabid.”

The beaver nods at her before moving on, his pace quickening as he disappears amidst his fellow beavers.

“What is _going on_?” Dirk asks faintly as he stares, watching the beavers crowd in on the spider.

It thrashes around, throwing the beavers out of its way, but they outnumber it by the dozens, and soon, the spider thing is drowning in different shades of brown fur, and Dirk loses sight of it completely.

“Apparently beavers are aliens from another planet,” Amanda explains to him, watching the beavers with cool satisfaction. “The ones here, anyway. The boys and I were headed for Colorado when we found them, and they asked us for help to find that alien's spaceship. Your friend there has been picking them off for fun, and they weren’t exactly happy about it.”

Dirk shakes his head, feeling light-headed. “Our client’s missing daughter is in that spaceship!” he says, turning to Amanda with wide eyes and slapping a hand to his forehead, just remembering. “Seb, too! I almost forgot!”

“Boss!” shouts Vogel’s familiar voice, and they both turn to see him running towards them from the distance. “There’s a bomb in the alien airplane! Priest says it’s gonna boom soon!”

“Seriously?” Amanda groans and Dirk yelps when she pulls him with her as she runs towards Vogel.

\---

The three of them somehow manage to climb back up the spaceship and in through the hatch, and Dirk tenses up when he sees Priest arguing in the middle of the room - directly under the ghostly cylinder - with Martin, who looks like he’s ready to bash him in the face with his bat.

Dirk can definitely relate to that.

Cross and Gripps are smashing through the monitors on the floors, and Seb is standing behind Priest with an annoyed look on their face, an angry, red bruise shining on their left cheek.

“The two of you really need to stop this pissing contest right now!” Dirk hears Seb yelling angrily as he, Amanda and Vogel approach them. “People are gonna _die_!”

“There’s only one way we can stop that bomb, and Martin here’s too much of a coward to go through with it,” Priest says through gritted teeth.

Martin growls at him, stepping up close into Priest’s space. “How about we use Dirk instead and see how much you like that,” he sneers.

Priest punches him in the face without preamble, sending Martin staggering to the side. Vogel and Amanda run up to him and Amanda punches Priest in the shoulder while Vogel helps steady Martin.

“Hey, fuck off, Scarface!” she snaps at him, and Priest steps back from her, eyes glaring darkly at Martin, who huffs out a sardonic laugh.

“M’fine, drummer,” Martin says, wiping at his face with the back of his hand.

Dirk stands a little ways away from them, looking between the two men warily. Priest notices his presence, his eyes scanning him quickly - presumably to check for any injuries - before he looks back at Amanda.

“Your wand,” he says curtly. “Think you can hold a forcefield around a bomb blast with it?”

Amanda frowns at him suspiciously, gripping her wand tighter by her side. “Maybe,” she says. “I never tried it before.”

“No, drummer,” Martin snaps, looking more agitated than usual. “We ain’t gonna risk your life like that.”

Amanda shakes her head, frowning as she asks, “Is there any other way to stop the bomb from going off?”

Priest shrugs, gesturing at Seb. “Ask them, this is their job,” he says.

Seb glares at him, but shakes their head. “Universe thinks I can’t do it on my own,” they admit grudgingly. “We’re just supposed to kill the alien thing.”

Amanda nods curtly, a thoughtful look on her face. “Where _is_ the bomb?” she asks, looking around the room.

Vogel points up at the cylinder above them, then, shouting, “Ghosts!”

Amanda looks up, her eyes widening as she sees them, and Priest tells her, “That’s it.”

Seb nods to confirm his words. “That thing is _bad_ ,” they say ominously. “It doesn’t belong here. It’s stealing people’s souls and using them up. It’s broken now, though, so it’s gonna go off and suck the whole town into nothingness.”

“That definitely does not sound good,” Dirk says, paling at the thought.

“It can’t be turned off,” Priest says, looking at Martin, then at Amanda. “Our only option is to contain it. Since the ghosts are pure energy, Incubus can feed off of the explosion. We just need to keep it from spreadin’ until the energy’s all sucked up.”

Amanda frowns deeply at that, grudgingly admitting, “That’s actually not a bad idea.”

“You really think you’re up for it?” Martin asks her gruffly, looking agitated again.

Amanda clenches her jaw, a determined look on her face. “I have to try,” she says, nodding to herself. “Universe got us here for a reason, right?”

“Aw, boss, are you sure?” Vogel asks, looking worried as he shifts from foot to foot, looking at Martin and Amanda. “I don’t want you to get sucked into nothing.”

Amanda shoots him a grim smile. “If I don’t, we’re all gonna get blown to hell, anyway, right?” she says wryly. Then she takes a deep breath and looks up at the cylinder, holding the wand in front of her in both hands. “So, I need to break the glass first? I think everyone should take a step back. Um, just in case.”

They all do, except for Martin and Vogel. Martin whistles, short and sharp, and Cross and Gripps bound towards them immediately, looking anxious and excited at the same time.

“So, we finally gon get this party started?” Gripps says with a manic grin at Martin.

“Showtime!” Cross hollers, throwing his arms up.

Dirk is busy watching them worriedly from the other end of the room, not noticing Priest moving closer to him until the man has his arm caught in a firm but gentle grip. Dirk tenses up and tries to pull away from him - he can’t handle that, he can’t stand to remember what Priest’s hands used to feel like - but Priest refuses to let go.

“Okay?” Priest asks him, pulling him into his side.

Dirk goes unwillingly, eyes falling shut without his consent, Priest’s presence igniting conflicting feelings inside him, feelings he’s long-buried but which stubbornly keep resurfacing recently.

_This is why he’d left, the reason he never wanted to go back, this person that he never wanted to ever face again - who brought out the person inside Dirk that he never wanted to be again._

“I’m fine,” he says breathlessly, twitching when he feels Priest pull him into a hug, one hand around his waist and another resting on the middle of Dirk’s back.

“The alien didn’t touch you?” Priest presses on.

Dirk shakes his head against Priest’s chest. “Norton convinced it to leave us alone,” he mutters, and then his eyes fly open and he looks up at Priest with alarm, pushing away from him. “ _Norton_! He’s still in that room!”

But before he can move, there’s a powerful gust of wind blowing through the room, and a flash of bright light exploding from somewhere to their side. They both struggle to turn and look, seeing Amanda enveloped in a huge, transparent bubble that’s crackling with violet and lilac energy in bursts of electricity. The bubble expands further until it’s surrounding the cylinder, along with the Rowdy 3, and then there’s a loud crack as the cylinder breaks.

There’s another explosion of light, and Dirk winces, turning away and covering his eyes as he’s temporarily blinded, and Priest turns them until his back is to the scene, shielding Dirk from it at the same time.

“Where _is_ Norton?” Priest asks into Dirk’s ear.

Dirk groans, slapping a hand to his forehead. “In the torture chamber,” he says, blinking rapidly to clear his sight as he looks up at Priest. “We left him there, he said we couldn’t get out otherwise!”

Priest’s hand on his back presses down comfortingly, and Dirk’s stunned when Priest kisses his forehead briefly.

“You did good,” he tells him, pulling him close again. “We’ll go get Norton after we get the bomb out of the way.”

Dirk raises his hands and rests them on Priest’s chest. He’d intended to push the man away, but he realizes tiredly that Priest feels _nice_.

 _He feels just like he used to_.

And Dirk grips the front of his vest instead and rests his forehead on Priest’s shoulder.

“You’re so sure it’s going to work,” he mutters, not expecting Priest to hear or reply.

“Universe says so,” Priest tells him, and Dirk snorts.

“Always a suck-up,” Dirk tells him, watching from the peripheral of his vision as the light from Amanda and the Rowdy boys starts fading slowly.

“Always jealous,” Priest shoots back easily, and Dirk flinches, hating how familiar this is.

“Oh my god, I can’t believe that _worked_!” Dirk hears Amanda say before she lets out a triumphant whoop.

Dirk pushes Priest away and walks quickly towards them, only slightly hesitant at the sight of the Rowdies relishing the taste of the ghosts’ energies. They look calmer, and _full_ , and Dirk shudders, glad that it’s not because of him for once.

“Good stuff,” Cross says, giving a full-body shake like a dog shaking water off its fur.

There’s shattered pieces of glass all over the floor, and the cylinder itself looks like a giant fluorescent light stick broken in the middle. Martin crunches glass under his boots as he goes over to Amanda and hugs her tightly, and the other Rowdies follow suit, turning it into a group hug with a lot of cheering and howling in typical Rowdy fashion.

Dirk’s smiling fondly at the sight when Seb walks up to him and says simply, “The floor opened up.”

Confused, Dirk looks over at where Seb is looking, and sees the grilles of the floor - which is technically now the wall - disappearing, and something shimmers briefly in the air. Surprised yelps resound from the bouncy room beyond it, and Dirk runs closer to see Kenna and the other three captives getting up slowly from the ground. Or, what was once a wall of the room? Dirk shakes his head against the migraine that’s forming, trying to keep up with the orientation of the ship, and runs into the room to help Kenna and the other three up.

“Are you Dirk?” Kenna asks dazedly as she looks up at him.

Dirk smiles brightly at her, nodding. “Holistic Detective,” he says proudly. “And I’ve solved your father’s case! I found you!”

Kenna grins back at him before throwing herself at him, wrapping her arms around his shoulders in a tight hug. “ _Thank you_ ,” she says gratefully. “You have no idea how shitty this place is! I was bored out of my fucking mind!”

Dirk huffs out a laugh as he returns the hug, feeling content and happy.

“We still need to find Norton,” Priest says suddenly behind him, and Seb pipes up, “And kill the alien.”

Dirk’s face falls at that, and he sighs heavily as he detaches Kenna from himself. He turns around and looks over at Amanda and the Rowdies.

“Could you possibly help Kenna and her friends get somewhere safe?” Dirk asks Amanda sheepishly. “Preferably with a telephone. Her father would appreciate a call.”

Amanda shrugs, looking at the Rowdies before nodding. “Sure, our job’s done here, anyway,” she says, gesturing at Kenna to come over. “Let’s go, kiddies, time’s wasting.”

Kenna looks at Dirk, who smiles at her reassuringly. “They’re good people,” he tells her.

Kenna smiles, nodding, and ushers her companions along as she goes over to Amanda. Amanda waves over towards the hatch, and the four of them head for it eagerly, seeing the open sky beyond. The Rowdies follow after them, and Amanda’s the last to go, pausing halfway and turning around to look at Dirk seriously.

“We’ll meet you at the hospital later,” she says.

Dirk frowns at that, but he’s got a bad feeling, too. He nods slowly, dreading what’s going to happen next. Amanda shoots him a pitying look before she slides out of the hatch, leaving him alone with Seb and Priest.

Priest is heading for the wall where the door is, a few inches above the ground. He looks over at Seb and says, “I’ll give you a lift.”

Seb scoffs, ignoring him as they stride over and jumps high, grabbing the doorframe and pulling themselves over it without a problem. Priest rolls his eyes, and looks over at Dirk expectantly.

“I do need a boost, thank you,” Dirk says, moving quickly towards him.

The hallway seems more eerie this time, with the wall as the floor and the pipes in the ceiling now lining one side of the narrow space. There’s no more steam coming from them, and the dim lights before seem dimmer, if possible. Dirk waits until Priest has climbed over through the door before he turns and looks around for Seb.

Seb is clutching at a broken steel pipe he’d picked up from somewhere, and is already striding down the hall with determination, while Dirk can’t even tell which direction they’d even come from earlier, with the new layout of the hallway. He starts off after Seb, anyway, trusting them to know where to go, and is stopped when Priest grabs his wrist to halt him. Dirk looks back at him questioningly, and even in the dark, Dirk can see the switch Priest makes behind his eyes; the moment when he’s no longer _Priest_ , but the Universe’s tool.

“Stay behind me,” Priest says, and Dirk shudders, nodding curtly.

Priest lets go of him, striding past him, and Dirk follows a good distance behind. They’ve just reached what Dirk recognises as the torture room’s door when Seb is climbing out of it, looking disturbed.

“It’s empty,” they say, frowning.

Priest nods down the other end of the hallway, a part of the ship they haven’t been to before, and says simply, “Over there.”

Dirk stares down it, telling them, “It’s not a good place,” knowing without a doubt that it’s true.

His chest clenches at the thought that Norton is there, with the thing, experiencing whatever god-awful tortures it’s inflicting on him.

Priest turns towards him suddenly, and Dirk squeaks when he pulls at his tie. Dirk looks down and for the first time, realizes that there’s a tie pin on it, silver and thin, completely non-descript.

“Gonna need your help now, Mona,” Priest says, and in a flash, she’s standing in the narrow hallway with them, smiling bashfully.

“ _Mona_!” Dirk trills, feeling elated. Mona turns her smile to him, giving a small wave. “When did you get here?”

“I was with Amanda,” she tells him. “I felt like I should come with you instead, sorry I didn’t tell you.” In a lower tone, she adds, “It was supposed to be a surprise.”

“Well, I _am_ surprised,” Dirk gushes.

“We got a friend in trouble, Mona,” Priest interrupts them, and Mona nods, looking at him seriously.

“I know, Mr. Priest,” she says serenely. “He’s really important to Dirk, so you should burn everything in your way. Fire works best.”

And just like that, there’s a flamethrower in Priest’s hands, and Priest shrugs on the straps of Mona’s tank over his shoulders, gripping the valve and the trigger rod firmly.

“Thank you,” Priest tells her, and Dirk can practically see her preening at his words.

“Guys!” Seb calls over to them, and the two of them turn to see him at the far end of the hall, looking impatient.

There’s a closed door with a blinking keypad on it next to where Seb is standing, and Priest steadies Mona and nods at Seb to open it. Seb smashes the keypad with their pipe and the door hisses as it falls open slightly. Seb pushes it open further until it falls over with a loud thump, and Priest climbs in first, Seb following close behind him.

The room is large, and Dirk has to tilt his head to make out what it is. It seems to be an infirmary of sorts, because it has rows and rows of pods stuck to one wall, with sheets that look like bedding in them, and there are cupboards on the floor with what look like broken bottles of medicine.

“Looking for us?” a familiar voice echoes, and they see the alien emerge from behind one of the pods at the end of the room.

It’s back in its original form, grey-skinned and disproportionately long-limbed and thin. It looks badly beaten up, though, scratches all over it, and its blood is a sickly neon green where it’s oozing from its injuries. It limps towards them, stopping halfway, and Dirk realizes with horror that it’s dragging an unconscious Norton along behind it by his hair.

“Norton!” Dirk cries out, unable to help himself, and the alien laughs in a terrible, discordant series of high-pitched sounds.

“You destroyed our ship,” the alien says, pulling Norton forward and holding him up in front of it in one hand. “We think it’s fair that you lose something, too, yes?”

Dirk sees it happening before it actually does, the bad feeling in his chest growing fast and vicious and painful, and he shouts a protest, moving forward instinctively, but he’s held back by Seb, who grabs onto him before he can get very far.

The alien raises its other hand, transforming it into a single, long, needle-point limb, and thrusts it mercilessly through Norton’s chest, and Norton jerks in its hold, but doesn’t wake up, doesn’t even move otherwise.

Dirk screams, a sharp, phantom pain exploding behind his own ribs, and he falls to his knees, breathing heavily.

His vision blurs as he watches the alien toss Norton aside like he’s nothing, and Priest moves forward swiftly, igniting the flamethrower at the same time the alien morphs into something else while lunging at them. It catches fire in mid-air, screaming inhumanly as it drops to the ground, thrashing as it’s engulfed in flames. But Priest doesn’t stop there, moving closer until he’s right in front of it, still spitting fire with a vengeance, and it doesn’t stop screaming, rolling around in agony as it burns alive.

It’s Seb that puts a stop to it all, raising their pipe over their head and smashing it gruesomely over the alien’s head, silencing its screams and halting its movements.

Priest only stops burning it when Mona transforms back to herself, walking silently over to where Norton had fallen. She kneels down next to him and tears open his shirt with surprising strength, and then she’s turning into a long length of thick gauze and wrapping herself over his wound.

“Oh, my,” Seb says in a soft, gentle voice - Cerce’s voice - dropping the pipe from their hands, and the loud clanging of it landing on the floor snaps Dirk out of his daze.

“He needs a hospital,” he says thinly, shaking his head, rising to his feet and stumbling towards Norton. He falls to his knees next to Norton’s prone form, and slips an arm under his shoulders, lifting him up with difficulty. Dirk looks over at Priest, and sees him standing stiffly in front of the still-burning body of the alien. “ _Oz_ ,” Dirk pleads, “He’s still alive, we have to _hurry_ , please!”

Priest jerks bodily at the familiar nickname, and finally turns around, his face a blank mask of nothingness. But Dirk knows what that means, knows that look from the last time Priest had come visit him in his room at Blackwing after one of his missions, and Dirk shakes his head, clutching at Norton desperately.

“He’s still alive,” Dirk bites out, letting out a sob. “ _Help me_.”

\---

Fourteen hours later, Dirk is sitting tiredly by Norton’s bed at the hospital, watching him sleep.

Cerce had been with him for hours as Dirk had anxiously paced the waiting room while Norton was going through surgery, telling him that everything would be alright and trying to distract him with stories of the places they had been to and stayed at. Dirk still _worried_ , though, and eventually, Cerce had fallen asleep and Priest had taken them back to their motel to rest. Dirk had just kept pacing by himself until the doctors had finally come out and told him that Norton would be fine, but wouldn’t be awake for hours, still.

He’s been sitting by Norton’s side, since.

He can’t stop thinking of the alien stabbing him, keeps seeing it happen over and over and over again in his mind, and Dirk wishes, not for the first time, that the Universe would be more cooperative and _warn_ him about these kinds of things _in advance_ and not only before they’re _just_ about to happen.

The doctors had said Norton was lucky; any second later and he might’ve died from the shock, if not the blood loss. The stab had missed his heart by an inch, and Dirk _knows_ it’s not a coincidence.

_He’s sick and tired of watching people he cares about almost die._

He knows Priest is coming before he’s entering the room silently, moving to stand next to Dirk’s chair.

“We almost lost him,” Dirk says softly, wearily, still staring at Norton’s face. Even injured and recovering from a fatal attack, he looks beautiful; pale and stiff, but peaceful. He looks like a corpse ready to be buried and the thought makes Dirk flinch.

“We didn’t,” Priest says.

“We might have,” Dirk retorts, craning his neck to look up at Priest. “Because of _me_.”

Priest glares at him with annoyance. “It wasn’t your fault,” he says.

“He was still in there because of me,” Dirk says, glaring back, eyes prickling with gathering tears. “He made a deal with that thing; Cerce and I for _him_.”

“That thing was after him, anyway,” Priest says, shaking his head. “You couldn’t have done anythin’.”

“He wouldn’t have even _been_ there for that thing to catch if it weren’t for me!” Dirk says loudly, standing from the chair.

“Stop it,” Priest hisses at him dangerously. “Stop tryin’ to justify your own decisions by blamin’ it on the Universe.”

Dirk scoffs, a sound that borders on a sob. “Oh, like _you’re_ one to talk! You use the Universe as an excuse for _everything_!”

“So do you,” Priest growls back, taking a step back from Dirk. His eyes are dark and intense as he says, “But _you_ choose to feel bad about it, Svlad, _you_ choose to hate your own abilities to satisfy whatever masochistic tendencies you’ve planted in your own mind. Some things just _have_ to happen, and all you can do is roll with the punches and get back up and punch right fuckin’ back.”

Dirk stares hard at him, hands clenching by his sides. “Why does everything have to be so _violent_ with you?” he asks despairingly.

“Because that’s what I _am_ , Svlad,” Priest grits out. “At least I _know_ what I’m good for.”

“I know what _I’m_ good for, too,” Dirk scoffs self-deprecatingly. “Getting people killed.”

Priest growls angrily at that, looking like he wants to grab Dirk by the shoulders and shake him thoroughly. “If you would just pull your head out of your ass for one _fuckin’_ second, you’ll see that you’re the exact opposite,” he snarls. “What about that girl that was kidnapped, huh? _You_ saved her. _You_ found her. And the town? If you hadn’t gone to Hotel Nirvana and met Cerce, they wouldn’t have gotten the message to come here to tell us about the bomb. _You_ saved this place. Not me, not Cerce, and not Brotzman or Incubus. _You_ , Svlad. Why can’t you just _accept_ that?”

It’s true, of course. Dirk knows everything that Priest is saying is true, and _logically_ , he _understands_ that. But he turns and looks back at Norton, and he can’t help but feel like he’s the one that should be in that hospital bed instead, and it’s just _not fair_.

“The world isn’t fair, Svlad,” Priest says, reading his mind. “But that’s why the Universe made _you_.”

Dirk chokes back a sob, his shoulders shaking as he buries his face in his hands, and he doesn’t even struggle as Priest pulls him close and smothers him in a hug, wrapping his arms tightly around Dirk.

“That’s why it made me, too,” Priest says quietly into his hair, and Dirk sobs harder. “So I can make the hard decisions for you.”

“Was it _your_ decision to leave me alone when I needed you the most?” Dirk chokes out, managing to swallow down his sobs. He reaches up to grab Priest’s shirt tightly between his fingers and says accusingly, “You stopped visiting me, and then you stopped _looking_ at me, and Scott told me you’d _left_! I thought you _hated_ me, but you were being so _nice_ to me the whole trip, and the way you've been looking at Norton made me _remember_ , and you have no idea how much that _hurt_!”

Priest doesn’t say anything to that, running a hand over the back of Dirk’s head instead, caressing him gently.

“Universe didn’t make you to be hated, Svlad,” Priest tells him quietly after a long moment. “I figured you didn’t know what I was yet, and it wasn’t fair to you. Wasn’t fair that you thought you loved me when you didn’t know anythin’ else.”

It’s not enough of a reason to excuse the pain Dirk had felt, the utter rejection that had almost crippled him when he’d been 16 and the one person he’d ever cared about had stopped being in his life without even a goodbye. It’s not enough to ease the fear of being _thrown aside_ again, of risking opening his heart back when he’d spent _more than a decade_ keeping it carefully closed, spent _16_ years believing that if _Priest_ couldn't stand the bizarre shit that Dirk always seemed to get tangled up into, then _who else would_.

But it’s _Priest_ and Dirk knows he’s never really moved past that to begin with.

Dirk pulls a hand free to smack Priest’s chest weakly. “You _idiot_ ,” he says, sniffing and wiping at his eyes. “You’re a _stupid_ idiot and I hate you.”

Priest huffs out a laugh. “I think you did pretty good without me,” he offers.

Dirk shakes his head, inhaling deeply. “I _am_ a pretty good detective,” he sniffs.

Priest hums, non-committal, and then says, “So is Norton.”

Dirk pulls away from Priest just enough to turn his head and look back at the unconscious man. “He’s connected, somehow, isn’t he?” Dirk says softly, pained. “Why can’t I see _how_?”

Priest rubs a hand down Dirk’s back comfortingly, telling him with utter confidence, “You will, eventually. You always do.”

\---

Amanda finds them the next morning, in the wee hours of dawn, Priest sleeping in the chair with Dirk curled awkwardly in his lap.

“I don’t know how to respond to this,” she says plainly as Dirk wakes up, blinking blearily up at her.

“I’m honestly too tired for it to matter,” Dirk confesses, pushing off of Priest’s chest and rubbing at his eyes.

Amanda smirks, crossing her arms over her chest. “It explains the weird visions I’ve been getting, anyway,” she tells him. “I still think he’s an asshole.”

Dirk waves a hand dismissively. “He is,” he agrees. “Universe needs him, though.”

Amanda sighs, throwing her hands up in exasperation. “That’s what everyone keeps telling me, too!” she says. “Have you met Friedkin, lately?”

Dirk’s brows furrow as he tries to remember where he knows the name from, snapping his fingers when he does. “Yes! That guy!” he says. “The Blackwing guy. He helped us escape last time.”

“It’s like every Blackwing agent’s turning into some sort of avenging angel or whatever,” Amanda complains. “Is there like, a Blackwing Anonymous group or something where they just get together and start discussing about turning over a new leaf?”

Dirk laughs at that, shaking his head. “Not that I know of, but it sounds like a good idea,” he says.

Amanda shakes her head, grinning. “Well, Ken’s still an asshole, apparently,” she says. “Universe showed me a vision of him leading the apocalypse.”

Dirk makes a face at that. “That doesn’t sound good,” he observes.

Amanda shakes her head. “Nope,” she agrees. “Which is why I’m here.”

Dirk glances over at Norton, raising a brow. “It’s Norton, isn’t it?” he asks wearily.

“Bingo,” Amanda says, looking over at Norton as well. “How long have you known this guy?”

“Less than 3 weeks,” Dirk says, thinking. “Feels longer, but yes. I’m sure it hasn’t been that long.”

Amanda nods,telling Dirk, “I saw a vision of him. I thought it was you, at first, but you looked different. Then I saw him driving the other day, and you were in the back, and then I finally got it.” She pauses then, and hesitantly adds, “I saw him die.”

Dirk freezes at her words, eyes widening as he stares at her. “But he’s alive,” he says weakly. “He _didn’t_ die.”

Amanda shakes her head, her eyes sympathetic when she says, “Not in that spaceship. I saw him die somewhere else.” She takes a deep breath before she continues, “He has to make a choice, and depending on what he decides, he either dies or he doesn’t.”

“What does he have to choose?” Dirk asks fearfully.

“I don’t know,” Amanda says, now looking frustrated. “I keep seeing the same things, over and over again, and none of it makes sense. It’s like watching different versions of the same show, but with different endings and missing scenes. The only constant thing is that _you’re_ always there with him when it happens.”

Dirk shudders, imagining how horrible that must be like, and shakes his head. “I guess that means I just have to be with him all the time and make sure he _doesn’t_ die, right?” he says determinedly.

Amanda smirks again, saying, “That’s one way to look at it. But that’s not the only thing I need to talk to you about.”

Dirk throws his arms out and says with a sigh, “Lay it on me.”

“You’ve got a new case,” she says. “Farah called me yesterday. You guys have to go to New York and help out a guy. I gave her Priest’s number to forward the voicemail to you.” Amanda smirks again. “I can tell you she wasn’t happy about it.”

Dirk groans, rubbing his hands over his face. “Tell Farah I’m sorry?” he asks pleadingly.

“No way, dude,” Amanda refuses. “Tell her yourself, I’m not getting involved in that.”

Dirk shoots her a dirty look, but Amanda ignores it, adding, “Me and the boys have our own thing to deal with. Beastie’s waiting for us in Colorado with Farah and Todd. Universe says we got jobs to do, but something huge is gonna go down 3 weeks from now.”

“What’s happening in 3 weeks?” Dirk asks cautiously, but Amanda shakes her head.

“No idea,” she admits. “But whatever it is, it’s _serious_. Everybody needs to be there.”

“Don’t like the sound of that,” Dirk sighs.

“Oh, and the boys wanna talk to you,” Amanda adds, which elicits another groan from Dirk.

"Do I _really_ have to?” Dirk whines.

“They said it was important,” Amanda says, shrugging.

Dirk grudgingly slides off of Priest’s lap completely and straightens up, making a face. “Fine, let’s get it over with, then,” he says.

Amanda pats him on the shoulder encouragingly, saying, “That’s the spirit!”

\---

As it turns out, the Rowdy 3 just want to give him a ‘proper send-off’, which, in Rowdy terms basically means a lot of shouting and smashing of cars in the hospital’s parking lot, and terrifying Dirk shitless. _Typical_.

Dirk manages to escape them quickly enough, running desperately back to Norton’s room, and he only just barely notices that Norton’s awake as he rushes in and dives down to hide under Norton’s bed, covering his head with his arms protectively.

The next thing he hears is Priest telling him to, “Get out from under there, Svlad,” and Dirk indignantly yells back, “Tell them to go away first!”

“Can we taste the new guy, Priest?” he hears Cross ask eagerly.

And then Martin chiming in with, “His pain smells sweet,” followed by a deep sniff and, “Been a while since pain smelled like that.”

And Dirk absolutely is _not okay_ with that, shouting, “Oh god!” and accidentally banging his head against the bottom of the bed as he scrambles to get out and defend his look-alike.

In other words, the start of any other normal day in Dirk Gently’s life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hiiii.
> 
> 1- More Torchwood myths. The Vicar is real, though. It's what Torchwood London called their head before he died (also, it has been heavily implied that Norton manipulated the events that would lead to his death, at the behest of the Committee - he was also implied to have taken over the Vicar's position, though that was never confirmed, I think). But the Hive is not a real alien - that I'm aware of, anyway - it's basically a shapeshifting bounty-hunter whose planet got destroyed and its whole species had managed to meld into one body to keep surviving. As Dirk aptly put; _it's evil_. It's not very smart, though. Just an asshole.
> 
> 2- I can't write Amanda. Or the Rowdy 3. That's all. Sorry?
> 
> 3- A wild Mona appears! You didn't see it, but she jumped from Amanda to Dirk when they were hugging. She's gonna keep doing that in future, I think, because my headcanon of her is that she very much prefers to stay in the background until her friends need her - or the Universe tells her Dirk needs her - help. She doesn't like to 'person' - I mean, she spent _6 years_ as a chair, and according to Ken (Season 2, Episode 8), she tends to forget what she originally is whenever she transforms for long periods of time, and that she prefers to be an inanimate object. I think it's probably from a trauma in the past, but Mona seems to be lost and unsure of who or what she _should_ be, or even _wants_ to be - that scene in Season 2 broke my heart - and maybe that's why she prefers to be in the form of things with no conscious mind. Just my own opinion, though. 
> 
> 4- The beavers just happened. Please don't ask. *shudders*
> 
> 5- UPADTE! I added a context post here: [II: The Beaver Incident](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15859473/chapters/37115058). Off-screen events are clarified, if anyone's interested.


	7. Not like this.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everyone talks to Norton and he finally tells Priest about the alien artefact everyone's got a hard-on for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Norton has a breakdown here, which is why I added the PTSD tag from the last chapter. Also, there's indirect and direct mentions of suicide; I think you can guess why. The how is sort of fucked up.

Norton wakes up sooner than he’d been expecting.

He also wakes up to a few odd, if not downright surreal facts.

Firstly, he’s alone. He’d have thought the Hive would be with him, at least, which answers the question of why there’s a surprising lack of pain. Another thing is the fact of _where_ he is, which is a larger concern.

Because he’s sure it’s nowhere on earth.

He’s standing in the middle of an open, black landscape, backdropped by more endless darkness painted with splashes of what look like animated, hyper-realistic brush strokes of the Northern Lights. If the Northern Lights were several different shades of blue and looked like glowing, multi-dimensional tentacles weaving lazily through space and millions of constellations, that is.

Norton feels high just staring at the sky, and it takes considerable effort to look away from the lights. He jumps when he realizes that he’s no longer alone; standing a few feet away from him is a tall, built man with short-cropped blonde hair and warped-looking red and black eyes. He looks human, otherwise, but there’s something else about him that screams _wrong_ to Norton.

“You’re dying,” the man says suddenly, and Norton takes an instinctive step back from him. “But like, you’re not _supposed_ to be dead yet.”

“Who are you?” Norton asks warily. “ _What_ are you?”

The man tilts his head sideways, gaze burning holes through Norton. “I died,” the man says like it’s the most natural thing in the world. “But the Universe saved me. It wasn’t like, on purpose, though. Kind of an uh, an accident. Actually.”

The universe. Norton groans, covering his face in his hands defeatedly. “More of you, exactly what I need,” he can’t help but complain, more to himself than anything else. “Why do I have a bad feeling about this?”

“That’s the Universe trying to talk to you,” the man tells him, sounding like he’s genuinely trying to be helpful. “But, like, that _thing_ inside you is, I don’t know? Stopping it? Or something. You need to get rid of it.”

Norton drops his hands and stares at the man flatly. “Really,” he deadpans. “The universe wants to talk to me so I have to get rid of the only leverage I have against a group of evil, ruthless aliens that want to torture me to death. That’s bloody _fantastic_ , really, why don’t I just lie down right here and wait for something to come along and _kill me_ while we’re at it, hmm?”

The man scowls, looking offended. “Hey, man, relax, okay?” he says. “Tone down the sarcasm, jeez. I’m trying to _help_ you.”

“You’re basically telling me to die,” Norton points out, unimpressed. “The Committee won’t risk destroying it by killing me without trying to extract it first.”

The man scoffs, rolling his weird eyes. “That thing is like, killing you, anyway,” he says. “That’s how it works; it, um, sucks the life out of whatever is hosting it until the host dies, I think.”

That’s news to Norton, and he narrows his eyes as he lets the man’s words sink into him. “Is that what you meant, then? That I’m dying?” he asks quietly.

The man shakes his head. “No, it doesn’t work that fast,” he explains. “You’re dying because that alien thing stabbed you when Dirk destroyed its spaceship.”

Norton pales considerably at that. “Is Dirk alright?” he asks, wondering how long he’s been unconscious. He’s sure he doesn’t remember that happening. “Did the Hive hurt him?”

The man shrugs. “Universe takes care of him,” he says, matter-of-fact. “He’s uh, crying, though? Like, over you.”

Norton feels simultaneously sick and relieved at the same time at the news. And immensely guilty. He doesn’t deserve Dirk’s tears; he’s not exactly been a saint in his lifetime. It’s not like he _wants_ to die - he knows for a fact that he _deserves_ to, at least - but he knows Dirk’s better off without him.

“You’re not _actually_ gonna die,” the mans says suddenly, sounding annoyed. “Weren’t you listening at all? The Universe needs you.”

Norton frowns at the man, annoyed at his annoyance. “What does that even mean?” he snaps. “I’m not anything _holistic_ or psychic like you lot. You need to speak _English_ , thanks.”

“Look,” the man starts, stepping closer to Norton. A booming echo in the air follows his every move, and Norton tenses, looking around them warily. “The Universe is like, broken or something, okay? And the aliens that wanna kill you? They’re _nothing_ compared to what’s coming to fix it, trust me.” The lights in the sky flash suddenly following his words, like an alarm blinking to life.

“I don’t even know you,” Norton tells the man, scoffing.

The man stops moving a foot away from Norton, crossing his arms across his chest. “That doesn’t _matter_ ,” he says emphatically. “The Universe brought you to Dirk, brought you _here_. You gotta like, do what it says or the whole world’s gonna die.”

The ground trembles slightly, then, rumbling like there’s something alive just underneath it. Norton almost stumbles, but the man catches him by his arm, seemingly unaffected at all.

“We’re running out of time,” the man sighs, looking put out. “Look, there’s this guy that’s like, a Holistic Informant, okay? He knows how to destroy that thing inside you without killing you or putting in in somebody else. Priest knows him. Find him, and get rid of that thing. The Universe can talk to you after that.”

“Again, why should I trust what you’re saying?” Norton demands, pulling out of the man’s hold violently. “For all I know, you’re working for the Committee!”

The man looks offended at the suggestion. “Ask Dirk, when you wake up,” he says. “Ask him about Friedkin.”

The man reaches out for him, and manages to catch him before Norton can get very far. “I need to send you back, like, _right now_ ,” he says, and Norton feels the odd sensation of being pulled apart, except, he’s physically still in one piece and nothing hurts. “Don’t die again!”

It’s almost like being spatially dislocated, and then his vision swims and everything starts shrinking and when Norton blinks, he’s gasping for air he hadn’t known he’d needed. His whole body is throbbing with pain, and he’s not in that weird place anymore, and the strange man is nowhere to be seen.

Instead, Norton is looking up at a stained, off-white ceiling with a fan that’s moving painfully slow, spinning in lazy circles that makes it hard for Norton’s eyes to adjust. He blinks several times, trying to get his bearings, and realizes that he’s in a hospital bed, dressed in a pale blue gown.

To his left is Priest, sitting cross-legged in an uncomfortable looking metal chair, casually scrolling through his tablet. He looks up when Norton’s eyes manage to focus on him.

“Welcome back, darlin’,” he greets.

“What’s a Friedkin?” is the first thing Norton thinks to ask.

As if on cue - accompanied by a strong, undeniable sense of déjà vu - the door to the room bursts open, and Dirk runs in, looking frantic and out of sorts. Following closely behind him are the four men that Norton barely recalls from the van that had stopped them on the road, shrieking and shouting boisterously as they chase after Dirk, who slides swiftly under Norton’s hospital bed.

Norton sits up quickly when the men surround the bed, eyes suddenly on him. Norton’s not sure how he plans to defend himself against them when just the act of rising from his pillows sends pain shooting throughout his body, but he’s saved from the trouble by Priest, who’s now up on his feet and whistling sharply with two fingers to his lips.

“Settle down, boys,” he says, and the other four grudgingly step back from Norton’s bed, though their eyes are still set on Norton, a hunger in them that sends an uneasy chill down Norton’s spine. “Get out from under there, Svlad,” Priest adds to the bed, sounding more amused than anything else.

“Tell them to go away first!” comes a muffled shout in response.

“Can we taste the new guy, Priest?” one of the strangers asks, one with floppy hair.

Another one chimes in, the one with the mohawk, his voice low and gravelly, “His pain smells sweet,” sniffing the air deeply. “Been a while since pain smelled like that.”

“Oh god!” Dirk shouts, and Norton feels the bed jolt, followed by a pained yelp, and then Dirk’s crawling out and up the side of the bed, between two of the strangers, shoving them away and holding his arms wide by his sides as he tries to shield Norton from them. “ _No_!” he says firmly, “No eating Norton! He’s not your food, alright? He’s my _friend_! No eating Dirk’s friends!”

“You heard the boy, Martin,” Priest says, still sounding far more amused than Norton thinks he has a right to be. “Can have a bite of me, if you want.”

“Aw, that’s gross!” one of them shouts, the tiny Asian one. He’s stepped away from the bed, pacing in a corner like he’s got too much energy. “No way I’m eating you!”

“Tastes like shit!” another one, a black man, agrees, nodding furiously with a disgusted look on his face. “Blackwing shit!”

“Can someone please explain to me what’s happening right now,” Norton asks faintly, feeling a headache forming. His body still hurts all over, and he almost wishes he were still unconscious rather than have to deal with this.

“Back up boys, I need a word with the invalid,” a new voice says, and it’s like watching magic happening when the four men visibly quieten, all of them stepping further away from Norton.

A new stranger walks in, stopping at the foot of Norton’s bed, and Norton immediately recognizes her as the girl from the road. She’s pretty, and fierce, and Norton’s immediately reminded of Gwen Cooper, except this girl has the bottom part of her hair shaved off and she’s sporting grey ripped jeans and a matching grey leather jacket like they’re in fashion again.

Her cold stare on Norton is exactly like Ms. Cooper’s, though.

“Hardwood,” she says, icy and curt.

“It’s _Torch_ wood, Amanda,” Dirk corrects her before she can continue.

The girl, Amanda, waves a hand dismissively, completely unbothered. “Hardwood, Torchwood, whatever,” she says. “Completely lame, either way.”

“This our guy, Boss?” the Asian kid pipes up, bouncing on his feet. “The one in your visions?”

Amanda nods, her gaze still on Norton. “Here’s how it’s going down,” she starts, crossing her arms over her chest. “The Universe is in trouble, and it thinks we need _you_ to help us save it.”

Her tone says everything about how she feels about that, and Norton couldn’t agree more. “You don’t like that,” he concludes, slowly leaning back down onto his pillows.

“You met Friedkin, right?” Amanda says. “Went on an acid-trip to the backstage of reality?”

“Double tick,” Norton confirms. “So, he wasn’t lying?”

Amanda shrugs, her eyes still hard. “Look, the guy threatened to shoot me in the face before, so I’m not a big fan, either. But he’s one of us, now, and turns out, so are you.” Eyes narrowing, she adds, “It doesn’t mean I have to like it.”

Norton huffs out a laugh, flinching when that elicits more pain. “Oh, sweetheart, what makes you think _I_ like it? I’ve got my own mess to clean up, I certainly don’t need more of anyone else’s.”

“This isn’t a joke!” Amanda says, sounding offended.

“I’m _not_ joking,” Norton snaps back, glowering before realizing that losing his patience isn’t helping anything. Forcing himself to calm down, he continues in a more level tone, “I don’t know you. You don’t know me. But as it turns out, we’re all in the same sinking boat headed down the bottom of the abyss, so if you haven’t got anything useful to tell me, I suggest you leave me to my morphine and let me recover in peace.”

Amanda’s hard gaze turns into something a little less steely, but no less aloof. Norton finds himself feeling some sort of grudging respect for the girl.

“Luckily for you, that’s exactly what we’re doing,” Amanda says. “Boys and I have to go to Colorado. But Universe needs Dirk to go to New York.” Her eyes go steely again as she glances over at Priest. “Scarface there is going with him. And so are you.”

Norton looks over at Dirk, who’s standing by the bed and looking at everyone uneasily. “You solved your case then, love?” Norton asks him gently, and Dirk’s eyes stop on his, a smile forming on his lips.

“Found the kidnapping victim,” he says proudly. “Your nasty alien friend was keeping her and a few others as insurance while it extorted money from their families; I guess even timetravelling bounty hunters need a means to fund their exploits.”

“The Committee _can_ be a tad stingy,” Norton agrees. “Results first, rewards later; it’s practically their motto.”

Dirk’s expression becomes more concerned, then, and he steps closer to the bed, reaching down to rest a hand on Norton’s. “You worked for them before?” he asks hesitantly, although it’s clear he already knows the answer to his question.

“Unfortunately,” Norton says, eyes closing to avoid looking at Dirk. “I never had a universe telling me what I should or shouldn't do.”

“That’s not how it works,” Dirk starts, and Norton waves his other hand dismissively. “I know,” he says, “I know, I’m just feeling a tiny bit petty at the moment, don’t mind me, love.”

Opening his eyes, Norton looks back at Amanda, who’s watching the two of them with poorly-hidden curiousity.

“What’s the plan, then?” Norton asks her. “How does Blackwing fit into all this?”

Amanda’s eyes narrow at that. “Ken’s out of control,” she says. “Last we checked, even Bart’s started trying to kill him.”

“They’re keeping her sedated to stop that from happening,” Priest adds, giggling.

“Doesn’t that concern you?” Norton asks him, feeling perturbed. “He’s your boss, isn’t he?”

Priest shrugs. “I hunted for Blackwing because the Universe wanted me to,” he says. “Now the Universe wants me to hunt with you. Simple enough to me.”

Norton feels another headache coming on from the amount of times he’s heard the word ‘universe’ by now. “I envy the amount of faith you lot have in this so-called ‘universe’,” he mutters darkly, rubbing at his temples.

“Yeah, you just get used to it eventually,” Amanda says, sounding the most friendly she’s had since she’d entered the room. “None of us trusts Priest, but I’d rather have him with us than against us, so he’s your problem now. Just make sure he doesn’t start trying to kill one of us or I’m cancelling the order for your jackets.”

“ _What_ jackets?” Norton asks, confused, but Amanda just waves his question away.

“Anyway, we’re wasting time here, you guys get your part of the plan, right?” she asks, already walking away towards the door. “Oh, and I’m taking Tyler Durden with us because we’re the cooler parents. See ya in three weeks, losers.”

“ _Who_ is Tyler Durden?” Norton asks Dirk as Amanda leaves, the four other men following after her obediently like overgrown puppies.

“That’s what she calls Cerce,” Dirk explains. “Although I have _no idea_ why. Cerce seems to like it, though. They say it makes them sound tough.”

Norton squints and stares at Dirk, as if the simple act could help him discern any semblance of logic to what’s happening to his life. Of course it doesn’t, and Norton just ends up getting a worse headache thinking too hard.

“Should we be concerned that Cerce is going to be spending a lot of time in their company?” Norton asks instead, feeling slightly ashamed that he’d actually forgotten about them since he’d woken up.

“Oh, I wouldn’t worry about it,” Dirk says, shrugging. “The Rowdy 3 might seem wild, but they’re really quite nice once you get to know them.” He makes a face, amending, “Kind of.”

“Rowdy _3_? But there are _5_ of them,” Norton says, confused.

“Don’t think too much about it,” Dirk says offhandedly. “There are actually 6 of them now, if you count Beastie. 7, with Cerce. And Todd and Farah will be with them, so if you count them, too-”

Norton lifts his hand from under Dirk’s to press his fingers over Dirk’s lips, which makes the man stop speaking abruptly.

“I get it,” Norton says, guiltily enjoying how soft and damp Dirk’s lips feel under his touch, how his cheeks flush ever so slightly at the contact. “Don’t - just stop trying to explain, it makes it more confusing, if anything.”

Dirk nods once, eyes wide, and Norton drops his hand back onto the bed and leans back deeper into his pillows, sighing.

“Do either of you, by any chance, know how to tweak the drip so that I can get more morphine pumping into me?” he asks. “I’d do it myself, but it’s a bit of a reach.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Dirk says, but Priest is already going over to the IV stand, kindly doing as Norton’s requested. “Shouldn’t we be calling a nurse in here, instead?” Dirk asks weakly.

Norton snorts inelegantly, feeling slightly more lightheaded now. “Don’t ruin it, love,” he tells Dirk. He shifts around until he’s right at the edge of one side of the bed, leaving enough space for another person to squeeze in next to him. “Now, who wants to cuddle Norton? Before I pass out, preferably.”

Dirk looks unsure, but Norton gives him his best pleading eyes, and Dirk gives in quickly enough, toeing his shoes off before climbing onto the bed. Norton wraps his arms around Dirk’s waist, pulling him close to him, tucking the other man’s head under his chin. Dirk’s got his arms held stiffly by his sides, and with a put-upon sigh, Norton arranges Dirk’s arms until he’s hugging Norton around the shoulders, before placing his own arms back around Dirk’s waist.

“Keep a watch out for any medical staff, would you, Priest?” Norton says drowsily, eyes already slipping shut before he finishes speaking. “There’s a dear.”

“Sweet dreams,” is the last thing he hears before he’s completely unconscious.

\---

Since they’re not on Blackwing’s payroll anymore, and also technically on the run from them, Priest and Dirk have to sneak Norton out of the hospital because none of them have any actual credentials to sign out of the hospital under.

Which is why Norton’s on Priest’s back about a week later, unabashedly enjoying the feel of the man’s tapered waist around his calves and his broad shoulders under his arms, as they watch Dirk hotwire an expensive-looking Honda that seems completely out of place in a hospital’s staff parking lot. Norton feels like he should reevaluate his view of Dirk’s innocence as he expertly gets the car going, as if he’s done this a thousand times, and the alarm hasn’t gone off even once.

“You steal cars very often, Dirk?” Norton asks from the backseat as Dirk drives them out of the parking lot.

“I wouldn’t call it _stealing_ ,” Dirk says. “It’s more like _borrowing_ , but without the _returning_ part. I look at cars and if there are ones that are okay to take, I just take them. Check the glove compartment.”

Priest pulls it open helpfully, and stacks of paper fly out in a mess. Gathering some of them, Priest reads out the names of several different people, all unfamiliar to any of them.

“They’re all insurance claims forms,” Priest says.

Dirk hums thoughtfully as he drives. “Scams, most likely,” he says. “There was this car I took once that had _hundreds_ of credit cards with rock star names in a box under the driver’s seat and a trunkful of Satanic paraphernalia. It was _fascinating_.”

Norton laughs as Priest bunches up the forms and throws them out the window. “I suppose we won’t have to worry about anyone reporting this as a stolen vehicle, then?” he asks.

“Not likely,” Dirk agrees.

“So, New York,” Norton says, recalling Amanda’s visit. “What’s waiting for us there?”

Dirk practically bounces in his seat at the prospect of having something to explain. “Good of you to ask, Norton,” he starts, actually turning in his seat and letting go of the wheel to look behind at Norton. Priest grabs the wheel easily with one hand to steady the car before Norton can panic. “Apparently, someone called the agency while we were gone and left a voicemail for help. Someone’s out to kill our latest client in New York, and we’ve got to find out _who_ and _why_.”

“Would you rather Priest drive?” Norton asks nervously as someone honks angrily at them several times when Priest changes lanes and Dirk doesn’t let up on the gas.

Dirk rolls his eyes but he turns back to the front and takes the wheel back in both hands, and Norton doesn’t miss one of his hands brushing over Priest’s lingeringly, or the way Priest doesn’t immediately let go. It sends a confusing whirl of emotions fluttering through Norton’s chest which he steadfastly ignores.

“Speaking of help,” Norton says instead, remembering something Friedkin had told him. “Do either of you know about a Holistic Informant?”

Priest giggles before answering him. “I know the bastard,” he says fondly. “Samuel Evans, slippery little snake. Where’d you hear about him?”

“Friedkin,” Norton tells him. “He told me to find him. He might be able to help me with a little problem I have concerning an alien artefact.”

“Blackwing called him Project Bogle,” Priest says. “He sees your deepest, darkest fears. I don’t know how much he knows about aliens, but if it’s information you need, he’s your best chance at gettin’ it.” Priest giggles again, this time sounding excited. “Last I heard, he was livin’ it up all cozy like in New York.”

“Then we’ll bump into him there,” Dirk concludes. “He might even know who’s after our client!”

“Sounds lovely,” Norton says dryly. “How long is it to New York?”

“By car? About 3 days’ drive,” Priest says.

Norton chokes, leaning forward between the front seats to look at Priest with horror. “Please tell me someone remembered to nick a bottle of painkillers before we snuck out of the hospital,” he says.

Priest shrugs. “Too busy draggin' your ass around, wasn’t I?” he says, amused.

“We can buy some on the way,” Dirk says, digging a hand through his pants’ pockets and pulling out a couple of cards with a triumphant ‘ha!’. “Found these in the toilet this morning! Knew they’d come in useful, but I wonder why anyone would leave them lying around in a _hospital toilet_.”

Norton takes the cards from him, realizing that they’re credit cards. “I suppose now isn’t the best time to say how illegal this is?” he asks wryly.

Dirk shrugs. “We’re in a _borrowed_ car,” he points out.

“Point,” Norton concedes. “Well, then, we’ll need to buy clothes. And a coat. And some food unless you plan on subsisting purely on the energies of the universe.”

Dirk scoffs. “Energies of the universe?” he asks patronizingly. “We’re not the Rowdy 3, you know.”

Norton opens his mouth to ask, but then decides it’s not worth the headache. “I am in a lot of pain right now, just so you all know,” he declares as he leans back into the seats. “The painkillers are a priority.”

“Of course, your highness,” Priest says teasingly.

Norton huffs, stretching out a leg to poke at Priest’s side with his toes. “That’s your _majesty_ to you, peasant,” he sniffs. “I feel like I’m about to pass out, however, so please don’t kill each other while I’m unawares.”

Priest giggles, resting a hand on Norton’s foot and caressing it comfortingly, all without even glancing backward. “Promise I’ll play nice,” he says.

“I’ll try not to annoy him much,” Dirk agrees.

Norton hadn’t really thought they would, really, but there’s an undeniable relief from their verbal assurance. It helps lessen the headache that’s drilling a hole through his head, anyway.

“Good boys,” Norton praises them generously, but his eyelids are already drooping, the adrenaline from escaping the hospital leaving his system completely.

It’s not long before he does actually drift off into an uneasy sleep, lulled by the quiet hum of Dirk and Priest talking.

\---

Norton wakes up choking on a scream. He doesn’t remember why he’s screaming, what he’d been dreaming about that had his blood pumping through his veins, his heart hammering against his ribs with fearpainpanic, and there’re hands gripping his shoulders tightly, holding him down.

Norton struggles blindly, kicking and swinging his arms, and there are more hands, grabbing onto his ankles, keeping his legs down, and Norton hears himself crying and begging, asking the Hive to stop, just stop, _I’ll do better_ , _I swear_ , _I won’t fail again_ , promising whatever he can if only it would stop the _pain_.

A sharp sting on his cheek stuns him momentarily, and Norton tastes blood in his mouth. The bitter, coppery taste pulls him abruptly from his panic attack, and he runs his tongue against his teeth, feels the pain from the action aggravating the cut on it, focuses his mind on the specific hurt.

Blinking rapidly, Norton tries to take stock of his surroundings. He’s lying down on a bed, his head to the side, facing a pale, green wall yellowing at the corners with water damage. There are two hands around his ankles; large and calloused, and undeniably Priest’s. Someone’s weight is on his waist, thighs straddling him, and two more hands are holding him down by his shoulders.

He knows without looking that Dirk is hovering over him, wide eyes concerned and worried, possibly even crying.

“I’m fine,” Norton manages to say, hating the way his voice trembles. “You can get off, now.”

There’s a moment where Norton’s afraid they won’t believe him, that they’re holding him like this on purpose, that they’re going to hurt him just like the Hive had, but the moment passes quickly. Dirk lets go of his shoulders, shifting off of him, and Norton focuses on the sound of the mattress squeaking as Dirk climbs off of the bed. Priest only lets go of his ankles when Dirk’s completely off the bed, away from Norton, and Norton simultaneously hates and loves him for it.

“I’m sorry,” he hears Dirk say, worried but determined. “I didn’t mean to hit that hard.”

Norton rolls over onto his side, still not looking at either of them, breathing deeply, squeezing his eyes closed and wondering how he’s going to live this down.

“It’s alright,” he tells Dirk, licking his dry lips and swallowing back the pain from the cut on his tongue. At least he sounds calmer now, a little more like himself. “You did good, love.”

Norton pushes himself up, swinging his legs off the side of the bed. The pains of his injuries come back full force, and Norton purses his lips, refusing to cry out. It’s enough that Dirk and Priest had had to save him from his nightmares, he doesn’t need them to pity him any more than they already do. He refuses to let them see how weak he actually is.

_A coward and a nancy, that’s all he’ll ever be._

Wincing, Norton is surprised when Dirk kneels down next to him, grabbing one of his hands to place two little pills in it. He’s holding a glass of water in his other hand.

“We stopped by a drugstore on the way here,” Dirk tells him quietly.

Norton murmurs a thanks, swallowing the painkillers dry, but he drinks the water to make Dirk feel better. It’s the least he can do.

Dirk takes the glass back when it’s empty, and Norton still can’t bring himself to look at him.

“I’ll just, um, go talk to the receptionist,” Dirk says suddenly, haltingly. “About something. Right, I should ask him about something.”

Norton hears him stumbling about the room, then the sound of the door opening and closing. He doesn’t hear any steps outside, and knows Dirk is still there, listening, waiting for something to happen. He almost laughs out loud; the man is just so transparent, it almost hurts.

Norton flinches before he can stop himself when Priest sits down on the bed next to him, too close, but not close enough. Norton wants to touch him, but the feeling of being trapped, being held down against his will still haunts him. His feelings are too conflicted, and Norton needs time to filter through them.

Priest, he learns, is an impatient man.

He drapes a heavy arm over Norton’s shoulders before Norton can bolt, holds him close into his side and uses his other hand to wipe away the tears that Norton hadn’t known are streaming down his cheeks.

“Don’t touch me,” Norton grits out, but he buries his face into Priest’s shirt, swallowing back a sob.

Priest runs his hand through his hair instead, pulling him impossibly closer. “I killed it,” Priest says suddenly, low and gruff. “That Hive. Back in Oregon. Burnt it to ashes with a flamethrower. It’s dead now.”

Norton lets out a broken laugh, the sound thankfully muffled by Priest’s shirt. “Is that supposed to make it all better?” he asks, even though it does. It helps immensely; Norton just wishes he’d been the one to put it down himself.

“No,” Priest agrees. “But it can’t hurt you any more.”

“It already did,” Norton says thinly. He’s crying, and he can’t stop; he can’t remember the last time he’s cried.

Norton looks up, pulls away from Priest. He stares at the man, looking into his dark eyes, and in a single, self-destructive move, pulls himself up to straddle the man by the waist and leans down to kiss him.

Priest doesn’t react at first, but Norton’s thrown caution into the wind. He presses his lips insistently, runs his tongue over Priest’s scarred lips until they part, delves in deep as if he’s searching for answers that aren’t there. He slips his hands under Priest’s shirt and feels the hard muscles under there, the menagerie of faded scars, feeding off the warmth from the man’s skin.

Grinding his arse down against Priest’s groin, Norton almost, almost feels glad for it when he feels Priest’s responding cock hardening under him, but then there’re hands on his shoulders, and Norton’s pushed back firmly.

“Not like this,” Priest says, looking completely unaffected despite his dick pressing against Norton’s arse through his pants.

“Why not,” Norton asks sharply, glowering. No one’s rejected him like this before; some would _kill_ to have him throw himself in their laps like this.

_It’s the only thing he’s really, honestly good at._

“You want to fuck me,” Norton accuses, grinding his arse down against the hardness below him, but Priest’s hands move quickly to grab at his hips instead, halting them.

“You’re angry,” Priest tells him. “You’re hurt, and upset, and you’ll regret this later.”

Norton makes a frustrated sound, grabbing Priest’s hands and trying to remove them. But Priest holds fast, and then the man rolls them over until Norton’s on his back, Priest kneeling between his legs and his hands pressing down on either side of Norton’s head on the mattress, caging him in. The new position sends panic running up Norton’s back, and he tenses up immediately, ready to fight.

“ _That’s_ why,” Priest growls down at him, looking angry. “Now snap out of it before I bring Svlad back in here and you can try this shit out on him.”

The mention of Dirk sobers Norton up immediately. Overwhelming shame washes over him, and Norton covers his eyes with his arms, willing the tears to stop falling. It doesn’t work, and he just ends up crying harder, unable to help himself.

“I’m sorry,” he chokes out between sobs. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

He’s still apologizing stupidly when he feels Priest get off the bed, vaguely hears him opening the door and Dirk falling inside.

“I thought you were going to _help_ him,” he hears Dirk saying, sounding aghast.

“I did,” Priest replies as Norton feels Dirk drop onto the bed and gathering him into his arms. “It’s your turn.”

Norton’s stopped apologizing, but the tears don’t seem to want to cooperate. He’s crying himself into exhaustion, he _knows_ but he feels helpless to stop it.

“Shh,” Dirk coos into his hair, rocking him gently in his arms. “It’s alright, Norton, you’re alright. Everything’s fine.”

_Nothing’s fine._

It’s a lie, and they both know it, but they both feel better hearing it said, anyway. Norton cries himself dry, eventually, falling into exhausted sleep in Dirk’s arms.

He wakes up what feels like days later, but it’s likely only been hours. But it’s dark, the room dimly-lit by the street lights outside that filter into the room through gossamer curtains. Norton’s lying on his side, tucked into Dirk’s arms, and Priest is nowhere to be found. Norton tries to go back to sleep, but it’s a futile effort.

Eventually, he gives up and gets up instead, carefully extracting himself from Dirk’s embrace. Dirk seems completely out of it, doesn’t even stir as Norton slips out of the bed, the movement causing the mattress to squeak loudly in the quiet of the room.

Someone, probably Dirk, had undressed him and changed him into an oversized t-shirt, and Norton grabs a jacket hanging on the back of an armchair before he walks past the other - unused - bed in the room and out the door, not even bothering with socks or shoes. Priest couldn’t have gone far.

Sure enough, he finds him a few doors away, sitting on the fencing that separates the motel’s walkway and the parking lot, smoking casually.

“Shouldn’t you be sleepin’?” Priest says without looking, his eyes fixed on the black sky above them.

“How long can _you_ go without sleep, actually?” Norton asks him, leaning his arms against the railing beside Priest and shivering as a night breeze blows past his bare legs. He regretfully thinks that he should’ve put on some pants, but it’s too late for that now.

“Went a whole week once,” Priest tells him, taking a drag of the cigarette. “But ended up sleepin’ for two days to make up for it. Suppose five days is the maximum if I don’t care for the aftereffects.”

“And when’s the last time you slept recently?”

“While you were in the hospital.” Priest takes another drag before offering it to Norton, who makes a face and declines politely. “Been four days now, countin’ tonight.”

“You’ll have to sleep tomorrow, then,” Norton says. “Not sure I look forward to having you out of commission for two whole days.”

“We’ll get a hotel,” Priest accedes, nodding.

“I didn’t know you smoked,” Norton says.

“Didn’t ask,” Priest points out. He takes one last drag of the cigarette before tossing it over to the parking lot. “Makes for a good torture method; hurts bad when you put it out on skin.”

Norton shudders, cringing, remembering Fat Kim and Andy. Poor Andy. “I’m aware,” he says. “Cigars burn worse.”

Priest turns to look down at him, and Norton wants to shy away from his gaze, except, he’d come out looking for the man for a reason.

“I’m sorry,” Norton says quickly before looking down at his hands, losing the courage he’d mustered to lead up to this conversation. He hates this, feeling not like himself, feeling like he’s fifteen again and having to suck it up to the gang leader because he’s not good at much of anything else. Norton hasn’t felt this way in _years_. “And thank you. For what you did, earlier. You were very good about it.”

He startles when Priest grabs one of his hands and holds it, palm-up, his thumb tracing over the heel of it gently. Caressing it like he’s calming a wild, skittish animal.

“The alien artefact you mentioned,” Priest says, and Norton feels tired all of a sudden. “Tell me about it.”

Norton breathes in deeply, thinks of how much he should tell Priest, how much he shouldn't. He wonders if he still doesn’t completely trust this man, but Priest had refused to take advantage of him at his most vulnerable - even though Norton had had ulterior motives for it - and he decides that it’s worth trusting a man for. He owes Priest the truth, at least.

“There are several of them, actually,” Norton starts, trying to recall how much the Committee had told him. They were always stingy, even with information, but they had needed Norton, and Norton figures he knows more about them than most people on earth. “Scattered all over the universe. There are time rifts in all corners of the earth, and a few of the artefacts have ended up falling through them throughout the decades.

“Most are useless, unless you put them together, like pieces of the same gun, you see, so they usually go by unnoticed for centuries until some poor sod ends up selling them to the wrong person. But some of them, like the Red Key, or Object One, as the Committee calls it, can affect their surroundings immensely. Usually in a bad way.”

Priest’s thumb stops moving when Norton pauses, and Norton looks up at him, feels his breath halt at the intense look behind the man’s eyes. Inhaling sharply, Norton looks away again and continues.

“There’s this one artefact in particular, the Committee calls it the Mark of Cain,” Norton says quietly. “It has to have a living body as a host, or it disintegrates into thin air. Except, once it’s inside a host, and you kill them, the artefact is destroyed, too. The only way to transfer it is through sex, crude as that sounds, and whatever’s hosting it has to die in the process.” Norton smiles wryly to himself. “You can guess where it got its name from.”

Priest’s thumb stops moving against his hand, and his fingers curl to encircle Norton’s wrist instead, pushing down the sleeve of the jacket he’s wearing. It’s almost as if he can sense where the artefact is, sleeping quietly under Norton’s skin, and Norton shivers again, though it’s definitely not from the night air this time.

“And you have this artefact inside you?” Priest asks in a low tone.

“Yes,” Norton says after a moment of silence staring at Priest’s fingers. He’d known Priest has large hands, but he had no idea how _dwarfed_ his own is compared to them, realizing with twisted fascination that Priest can easily break his wrist between his fingers if he were so inclined. It takes effort to keep talking, to explain why the Mark is so lethal.

“The Mark of Cain can be used to activate an alien war-machine that could wipe out the entirety of the human race with a single button; like anthrax, but without the hassle of micro-targeting. Without the Mark, the machine can’t turn on.”

Priest’s hold on him tightens for a second before the man lets go of him completely. “Universe hates it,” Priest says plainly. “I knew there was somethin’ wrong with you, and if Bart had met you before, she’d have probably killed you, no questions asked.”

Norton feels cold at his words, even though he has no idea who this Bart that everyone keeps mentioning _is_ , but he can’t deny that it would’ve been better if he _had_ just died. One less problem for the world.

But it’s Priest’s next words that makes Norton pale, turns his breathing shallow.

“That’s why you came onto me, isn’t it?” Priest asks, calm and composed. “You gave up. You wanted to die, but that thing wants you to pass it along first.”

“I’m sorry,” is all Norton manages to choke out at first. “The Mark is semi-sentient, it has a survival instinct like a _cockroach_ , and I wasn’t in a right mind. It wasn’t-”

Priest’s hand is unbearably warm when he cups Norton’s cheek and turns his head until he’s looking at him. He looks almost kind.

_Almost._

“Svlad likes you,” Priest tells him. “It’d break his heart if you died now.” Priest lets go of him, jumping off the railing and dusting himself off. “Way I see it, you bit off more than you could chew, and now you’re cleanin’ up the worst of it. Ain’t your fault you’re tryin’ to survive.”

Norton is frozen where he stands, unable to believe his ears, unable to believe his actual _luck_ , and Priest walks past him only to stop a few feet away.

“You comin’ back to bed?” Priest calls out to him, and Norton jerks away from the fence like he’d been burnt.

“Y-yes,” he manages, stumbling towards Priest. “Yes, of course.”

Norton feels strange as he walks alongside the man, this man who’s figured out what Norton had been up to all along, but who’s brushing it off like Norton hadn’t been lying through his teeth to him the whole time they’ve known each other. Priest had literally figured out that Norton had been planning to use him, and must now probably be questioning how much of Norton’s affections so far had been leading up to the incident earlier and how much of it had been genuine attraction for the man.

If Priest had been anyone else, Norton would be out on his arse in the streets by now, but Priest being Priest, he’s inviting Norton back into a motel room for anything other than physical intimacy, which is in and of itself nothing if not _peculiar_.

It’s a foreign feeling, but Norton thinks this is what it must feel like to have an actual friend.

\---

Dirk is the first to wake up the next morning, unsurprisingly. Of course, only if you didn’t count Priest not having slept at all.

Norton had swallowed down a couple more painkillers before he’d slipped back into Dirk’s arms the night before, and they’re still muddying up his mind by the time Dirk is shaking him awake. It feels like he’s only just closed his eyes, but the morning sun filtering in from the windows tells him a different story.

“C’mon, I’ll help you wash up,” Norton barely hears Dirk saying, and Norton lets himself be guided to the bathroom, not really quite all there.

It’s only when he’s sitting naked in the bathtub, practically swaddled in an unreasonable amount of bubbles and bath foam, that his mind finally catches up. Dirk is rubbing his back gently, fingers pausing every now and then over old scars, and Norton can practically feel him holding back his curiousity.

“You can ask, you know,” Norton tells him, his voice raspy from sleep.

Dirk’s hand stops rubbing between his shoulder blades, and when Norton looks at him, he’s got a caught look on his face, like a child being told off for doing something bad.

“Are they all from working for Torchwood?” Dirk asks, hesitating before adding quietly, “Or the Committee?”

Norton smiles wryly. “Some,” he says. “Torchwood has advanced medical tech, so most of my injuries from missions didn’t actually leave any scars. Majority of these were from before I was recruited.”

_Some were from the Hive, but Dirk doesn’t need to know that._

Dirk inhales deeply, his hand moving again. “Do you ever regret it?” he asks. “Working for them?”

Norton considers the question seriously. He’s never been very fond of the Vicar, or some of things that Torchwood had done in the name of the Queen. Whatever anyone said, Torchwood was, _is_ , more often than not, nothing more than a political tool for people in power. Or people who sought out power. The Committee is a prime example of that.

But whenever he starts doubting them, or questioning his own morals, all Norton can think of is how awful it had been growing up in a church, being told he was an abomination for liking things the Bible said he shouldn’t, for being who he was, who he is now. How terrible he’d felt, when his own father had damned him and his mother had turned away from his tears because Norton wasn’t, isn’t, as good as a son as his brother.

He remembers what starving on the streets had felt like, how grateful he’d been to have even a penny in his pocket despite the disgusting things he’d had to do to get it. He remembers swearing fervently that he would never allow himself to fall that far ever again, that he would rather kill and steal and lie through the rest of his pathetic life than to have to unwillingly get down on his knees for another man.

“Regrets can’t change the past,” he finally says, looking down at the bubbles in front of him. “There’s no point in having them when you never intend to learn from your mistakes.”

Dirk’s hand moves from his back to paint a splash of foam across Norton’s shoulders. “Sometimes I wonder what it might’ve been like,” he says, absently spreading the foam down Norton’s chest, careful around the stitches of the stab wound Norton doesn’t remember getting. “If Blackwing hadn’t found me, if I hadn’t met Scott, or Francis, or Mr. Priest. I wonder if I might’ve ended up stronger, like you.”

Norton grabs his hand, startling Dirk, who instinctively tries to pull away. But Norton holds fast, looking up at Dirk, eyes hard.

“You’re better than me, Dirk,” he tells him, meaning every single word. “I don’t know what Blackwing did to you, and if I were to hazard a guess, I think I wouldn’t like any answer I could come up with. But you came out like this, the way you are now; and that’s a strength I never had.”

Dirk’s eyes start watering, and his lips purse, like he’s trying hard not to start wailing. “No matter what anyone tells you, or what anyone told you before; you’re just perfect the way you are,” Norton finishes before finally letting go of Dirk’s hand.

Dirk falls back onto his ass on the linoleum floors, staring at Norton, still looking like he’s on the verge of tears. Norton tries not to feel bad for it, tries not to think too hard about how Dirk has probably never heard anyone tell him anything like that before, how if Norton had been younger, he would’ve cried, too, if anyone had said those words to him. Tries not to think about how he might never have started fucking himself up by working for the Committee if he’d just stopped hating himself long enough to care what happens afterwards.

“I think I can manage the rest myself,” Norton says instead, grabbing onto the sides of the tub and pulling himself to his feet.

He realizes belatedly that he’s still naked, when Dirk squeaks and his hands fly up to cover his eyes. Unable to help himself, Norton teases him, “You could come join me, if you want.”

“No, thank you!” Dirk says quickly, scrambling backwards until his back hits the closed door. “I-I’ll just wait outside!” he adds, blindly reaching up for the doorknob above his head and turning it. The door falls open, along with Dirk against it, and Priest, who just happens to be walking by outside, stops and looks down at Dirk with a raised brow.

“Oops,” Dirk tells him, and Priest looks up, eyes meeting Norton’s.

“Don’t suppose _you’d_ like to join me?” Norton says cheekily, just to hear Dirk squeak again.

Dirk scrambles up from the floor, firmly saying, “ _No_! No one’s joining anyone! Just finish your bath and then we’re leaving!” before he slams the door closed.

Norton can’t help but laugh to himself, especially when he can faintly hear Priest saying, “You always were bad at sharin’,” followed by Dirk’s indignant, “I am _not_!”

Norton takes his sweet time in the bathroom, coming out only almost an hour later, a towel around his waist and another on his head. Dirk is fiddling with a phone, lying flat on his back on one of the beds, and Priest is nowhere to be seen. Norton is still towelling his hair dry as he sits on the bed next to Dirk, wishing the room had a hair dryer - one of the best inventions of the modern world, in his opinion.

Norton tosses the towel on the other bed once he’s done, pleasantly surprised when Dirk hands him a pastel pink shirt that feels crisply new.

“We’re the same size, so it should fit fine,” Dirk says, sitting up on the bed.

Norton hums as he takes it, slipping it on. True to word, it fits perfectly on Norton’s frame, though he doesn’t fill out the sleeves as much as Dirk probably would. Norton’s seen the size of his biceps and he would be envious if he weren’t so busy admiring them. Somehow, Dirk’s arms complement his boyish charms perfectly, like a lion with a kitten’s heart.

“Oh,” Dirk says suddenly, and Norton looks over at him to see him staring wide-eyed at Norton’s face.

For some reason, it makes Norton feel self-conscious, something he hasn’t felt since his teenage years. “What?” he asks, touching his cheeks. “Have I got something on my face?”

Dirk shakes his head furiously, a light, rosy hue colouring his face. “Your hair’s darker,” he says, sounding awed. “You look _exactly_ like me. Am I really that pretty?”

Norton couldn’t stop the blush on his own face if he’d tried. He’s fully aware of how attractive he is, how _pretty_ he is, as Dirk puts it; it’s been especially useful when he’d been slumming it on the streets when he was much younger with a much more limited skillset. But the way Dirk says it, it sounds like something good, something to be cherished.

Dirk sounds so sincere about it that Norton - for the first time since he’d learnt what pretty means for a boy in his position - doesn’t feel _dirty_ about it.

“W-well,” he stammers out, feeling uncharacteristically flustered. He tries to focus on forming words, but Dirk’s still staring and that’s making it all the more difficult. “T-that! That’s a bit narcissistic of you, isn’t it?” he finally manages to bite out, looking away from Dirk.

“What? I’ve never even taken drugs on purpose before,” Dirk says confusedly before insisting, “I just mean you look younger like this. Like me!”

Norton’s brows furrow as he says, “Wha-?” and then realizes what Dirk had meant, and he tries to explain, “No, that’s not what that m- actually, _whatever_ , I give up,” because Dirk’s still staring at him intensely.

He scoffs instead, trying not to laugh. “It’s rude to assume someone’s age, Dirk,” he says, standing up. “How do you know I’m _not_ younger than you?”

“You’re from the 50’s,” Dirk scoffs, and Norton hears him jumping out of the bed and rifling through what sounds like paper bags. “Doesn’t that instantly make you older than me?”

Norton turns around, only to have a packet of brand new briefs thrown his way, and it’s purely because of reflexes honed from years of dodging fatal gunshots that Norton manages to catch it before it hits him in the face.

“All yours,” Dirk says cheerfully, turning back around to dig some more. He pulls out a pair of dark coloured jeans and tosses it over his shoulder at Norton, who catches them with an offended look on his face.

“I am _not_ wearing these!” he says adamantly.

“We didn’t get anything else!” Dirk protests, holding up another pair of jeans, blue and definitely also denim, as he turns back around to look at Norton. “I don’t think you’d want to walk around pantless.”

Norton must look like he’s seriously considering that because Dirk glares at him.

“ _No_ ,” he says sternly. “You are wearing that, whether you like it or not.”

Norton narrows his eyes at him, dropping the jeans he’s holding to the floor without breaking eye contact with Dirk.

“Make me,” he says.

Dirk stands up straight, clearly accepting the challenge for what it is.

“Fine,” he says before he’s sailing over the bed between them and tackling Norton right onto the floor.

\---

Priest comes through the door while Norton is still grappling with Dirk in the middle of the room, struggling vainly against the other man’s apparent strength.

“I’m not wearing them!”

“Yes, you are!”

“Honestly, let go of my legs!”

“Stop _kicking_ me!”

“Then _get off_ me!”

“Put on the pants!”

“They’re _jeans_!”

“Just put them on!”

“Over my dead body!”

“ _Norton_!”

Norton shrieks indignantly when large hands grab him by his armpits and haul him up until he’s dangling a foot in the air, with Dirk still wrapped around his waist. A quick glance over his shoulder tells him that it’s Priest, who’s grinning maniacally back at him.

“Pull ‘em up, Svlad,” the man says, and Norton shouts with unintelligible rage as Dirk lets go of him to grab the jeans he’d thrown to the floor, and quickly starts maneuvering Norton’s legs through them.

“Mutiny!” Norton yells, kicking out his left leg, but Dirk grabs it by the ankle and forces it through one of the leg holes. “Betrayal! I’ll remember this next time either of you needs any saving! I hate you both!”

“It’s almost over,” Priest coos into his ear, and Norton huffs, jerking forward to distract himself from the warmth of the man’s broad chest against his back.

“It’s for your own good,” Dirk tells him, managing to tug the jeans up Norton’s thighs despite all his squirming and struggling.

“I _hate_ you,” Norton hisses into his face as Dirk zips up the jeans and buttons them up.

Dirk winces at his words, but puts on a brave face, tugging Norton’s shirt down from where they’ve ridden up his waist with all his writhing and twisting. The material looks terribly creased now, which makes Norton seethe even more. Dirk ducks down to grab a pair of black sneakers that had apparently been sitting at the foot of the bed and comes back to slip them onto Norton’s bare feet. Norton’s half-tempted to kick him in the face, but decides that that’s far too cruel, even for him.

“I think you can let go of him, now, Mr. Priest,” Dirk says, taking a step back once he’s done and studying Norton up and down like an artist admiring his masterpiece.

“You sure you ain’t just gonna try and take ‘em off, darlin’?” Priest asks, putting Norton down on his feet, but still not letting go of him.

“Shut up,” Norton retorts petulantly.

Priest giggles, but he does let go. Norton stomps away from them, hating the way the denim drags against his skin, not at all used to the rough material. Even Blackwing’s cheap slacks had been better than this, and Norton knows it’s bordering on childish, but he definitely feels like he might kill either one of them if he doesn’t get to change out of the jeans any time soon.

“We are going to a tailor,” he declares, running a hand agitatedly through his hair. He’s got nothing to gel it back with, too, which serves to annoy him further. “We are getting _actual_ pants and _actual_ clothes and I’m not speaking a damned word to either of you two until that happens.”

He’s startled when he turns and Priest is right next to him, not hearing the man move at all, and Priest is reaching up to cup a hand around the back of his neck. Norton’s about to slap his arm away but Priest catches his wrist before he can land the blow, holding him still.

“You look good in them,” Priest tells him, hand curling tighter around Norton’s neck, his eyes darkening.

Norton flushes, feeling flustered again, forgetting that he’s supposed to be angry at him, brain stuttering to a halt at how easily this man can physically overpower him. The jeans somehow feel tighter on him, the shirt constricting around his chest, and Norton finds himself unable to breathe.

“Mr. Priest,” Dirk says warningly, and his voice drags Norton abruptly out of whatever daze he’d fallen into.

He jerks out of Priest’s hold violently, taking several steps away from him. “A tailor,” he says shakily, fists clenching. He’s far too emotional for no reason, and it’s too early for this, and far too soon since the his breakdown the day before.

Norton hates not being in control of anything, let alone his own feelings.

Priest shrugs, nods towards the door. “The sooner we leave,” he says pointedly.

Norton juts his chin out at him defiantly, striding past the man and out the door without a backward glance. It’s only when he’s outside that he realizes he has no idea where their car is, and he reluctantly waits for the two of them by the room’s door, arms crossed tightly over his chest.

Dirk has several paper bags in both hands as he steps out, looking apologetically at Norton. Priest is following close behind him, hauling two non-descript backpacks on his shoulders that look heavy. Norton suspects he’s got guns and ammunition in them, which only makes sense since it’s Priest.

“We should eat!” Dirk says brightly, obviously trying to cheer up the mood. “I saw an _interesting_ looking diner down the road yesterday and they’ve got _banana pancakes_.”

Norton refuses to respond, ignoring the guilty feeling in his gut when Dirk’s face falls at his silence. Priest shakes his head at him as he walks past him, which only makes Norton feel worse, but the jeans chafe as he follows them towards the car, and that certainly reminds him of the reason why he’s angry at them in the first place. He takes the backseat just because, and stubbornly stares out the window, tuning out anything Priest or Dirk are saying.

He dozes off without realizing it, staring at passing trees and thinking of all the ways he would like to kill Priest.

Preferably with his bare hands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hiiii.
> 
> 1- Forgot to explain the Tyler Durden thing. It’s Fight Club; for those of you who don’t know what that is, it’s a movie about a guy who’s sick of his mundane life and unknowingly creates an anarchic, badass split personality called Tyler Durden. The movie is awesome and the book is amazing. Athough confusing, with Freudian levels of societal satire. Try it?
> 
> 2- High five to everyone that got the Supernatural reference because I couldn't help myself. Yes, Dirk's _borrowed_ Baby before. Of course, Dean got her back, so, all's well. _Not_ recommended, however; he's still looking for the culprit. Luckily, Dirk's got the Universe on his side.
> 
> 3- The reference to PC Andy and Fat Kim; Torchwood characters, Fat Kim appears in Goodbye, Piccadilly - she sort of tortures Andy by putting out a cigar on him. She's _bad_. Norton was there, watching it happen. 
> 
> 4- The cat's out of the bag!! Yes, because Norton is _Norton_ , he's actually been coming onto Priest and Dirk in case he ever needed to throw the Mark away - like if he ever thought it could fall into the Committee's hands again, for some reason or another. Because the sex - though he never mentioned - has to be consensual on both ends, so he can't just go off and force himself onto someone to transfer it. And no, paid sex doesn't count, because that's still sort of semi-consensual since whoever he pays to sleep with him is still being forced to do so (also, because the Mark is semi-sentient, it won't let him just kill himself to get rid of it, either). ANYWAY, as any Torchwood operative would happily tell you; _nothing ever goes according to plan_ , and he definitely never planned on actually _caring_ about Priest or Dirk. So, yeah, he might've started off planning to use one of them if he'd needed to, but now he's pretty much the one being used because he's really just a smooshy marshmallow, deep down inside.
> 
> PS: Alien war machines are canonical in the Torchwood universe, but the one Norton talks about is completely made up. Also, the artefacts are real, too - Object One, for example. But not the Mark. That's also fake, haha?
> 
> PPS: The Mark of Cain is connected to Project Cain, *hint hint nudge nudge*. Keep that in mind. _It's important later_.
> 
> PPPS: I realize I've made Dirk seem pretty sex-shy so far and someone DM-ed on Twitter me to say that he's not. I just want to clarify that Dirk's _not_ shy, in any way, shape or form. He's not innocent, at all. It just _seems_ that way because majority of the story is from Norton's POV, and Norton thinks Dirk is like a more innocent version of himself. After all, if you'd met Dirk the way he was when Norton had the first time, wouldn't you think so? Really, in all honesty, Norton's more like, self-projecting onto him, the self-centered little shit. Anyway, the reason Dirk's always blushing is because he's just flustered because whenever Norton teases, he's doing it looking _just like him_ and it's just weird, innit? Seeing yourself being shameless? It's a whole different story than when you're doing it to other people. Anyway, Dirk gets more himself later as he gets used to seeing Norton (his shameless side, anyway, I'm still trying really hard working on his ridiculous side; it's extremely difficult, god help me), especially when sexy-tiems happen. Although, he'll be having some internal conflict about it, first. Ménage à trois; ain't as common as I like to make it sound, yes?


	8. That doesn't sound completely unhealthy at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reference for Project Golemn can be found here: [Project Golem's Data File](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15859788/chapters/37396469#workskin).
> 
> Warnings: There's abduction, non-consensual molesting and forced feminization/objectification here. Norton doesn't have fun. _At all_.

Dirk’s been driving for several hours - filling up the silence in the car after Norton had fallen asleep by singing off-key to the radio and badgering Priest with questions of what he’d been doing for the past 17 years since Priest had left Blackwing - when he gets the sudden urge to slow down.

Priest gives him a look that he only sees out of the corner of his eyes, asking, “What?”

The sky’s getting dark, and a glance at the dashboard says it’s 6 pm, and Dirk leans closer to the steering wheel to peer through the windshield when the road slopes down and he sees a broken-down car in the distance on the side of the road, its hood popped open. A woman is standing next to it, waving her arms when she sees them approaching.

“I think we should stop,” Dirk mutters to Priest, even though he’s getting a bad feeling about it. “She’s a clue, maybe?”

“Here?” Priest asks, curious. “We just left Oregon.”

Dirk shrugs, but pulls over, anyway, a little ways past the car. Priest turns and reaches behind his seat, probably to grab a gun, but Dirk puts a hand on his arm and says with a frown, “Can you not?”

Priest pauses, shooting him a flat look, but huffs out an irritated sigh before pulling away. “Fine,” he says, opening his door. “But stay close to me.”

Dirk grins brightly, getting out of the car himself. He glances in the backseat where Norton is sound asleep, and decides to leave him be; he’s probably still in a bad mood, anyway. Priest is already talking to the woman by the time Dirk goes over to them.

“Really, thanks!” Dirk hears her saying, sounding exasperated. “I’ve been here for _half an hour_ , and you’re the first car that’s stopped!”

“What’s wrong with it?” Priest asks her as he walks over to the front of the broken car, looking down at the ground where there are several tools scattered around, and even Dirk notices that none of them seem to be remotely useful in a real breakdown. There are screwdrivers and pliers and spanners of the same size, and they all look shiny and brand new. Dirk walks over to stand next to Priest cluelessly.

“I don’t know, I’m hopeless with this kind of thing!” the woman says. “The engine just spluttered and then it died.”

“Have you noticed anything _odd_ , lately?” Dirk asks, looking over at her.

The woman raises a brow. “Odd?” she echoes. “Odd how?”

Dirk shrugs. “Weird, bizarre, out of the ordinary?” he elaborates as he gestures at the air. “Any tangentially peculiar events occurring with increasing frequency in your life recently?”

The woman looks more and more confused and Dirk sighs despondently as he turns back to watch Priest prodding at some of the pipes and wires under the hood.

“Not an assistant, but not a clue, either,” Dirk says to himself. “Maybe it was a false alarm?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” the woman says, and Dirk waves a hand at her without looking.

“Don’t worry about it,” he tells her dismissively, glancing at her just in time to see her swinging one of the wrenches from the ground straight at his face.

Dirk yelps in alarm, stumbling backwards and managing to avoid the hit by inches, but he knocks into Priest and they both tumble onto the ground in a heap, Dirk on top of Priest. Dirk scrambles to the side and sees the woman rushing towards them, and he keens, ducking down and raising his arms over his head protectively.

Priest is still lying on his back on the dirt, but he kicks out a leg at the woman and she trips, falling to the side with a shriek before she can reach them. She doesn’t stay down for long. She and Priest both rise to their feet at the same time, shoulders hunched as they circle each other, and Dirk looks up at them and notices blood trailing down from her nose, even though she couldn’t have fallen that hard.

“Osmund Priest, the Universe’s _prodigal son_ ,” the woman sneers at Priest as they stop moving, Priest with his back to Dirk. “Thank you for bringing Icarus to us. We’ve been expecting you.”

“I don’t think we’ve ever met,” Priest replies with a dry chuckle. “You should introduce yourself.”

The woman’s lips turn up in a sharp-toothed grin, and Dirk watches with horror as the corners of her eyes start bleeding red. “I’m just a puppet on a string,” she sing-songs, and Dirk hears Priest growl suddenly.

“ _Lutkas_ ,” he snarls with a passion. “Where are you, you little shit?”

Dirk’s so busy watching them raptly that he doesn’t notice that someone else is there, not until there’s a hand grabbing the back of his shirt and he’s pulled to his feet roughly, and he shouts out in alarm.

“Right here,” the voice of a man says beside him and Dirk sees a glimpse of dark hair and a pale hand gripping a spanner before there’s a sharp pain on the side of his forehead and everything goes black.

\---

It’s dark when Norton wakes up.

He’s still in the car, and he’s alone.

It takes a long moment for him to convince himself that Dirk and Priest hadn’t abandoned him, that they hadn’t actually gotten sick of his childish tantrum from earlier - that Priest hadn’t actually been pretending to not care that Norton is a lying piece of shit - and had decided that it was easier to just leave him behind, but his heart is still hammering loudly against his chest as Norton steps out of the car and takes a look around.

It’s the middle of nowhere, literally. The car is stopped at the side of a long stretch of road, flanked by high, rolling green hills and nothing else in sight as far as Norton can see, and Norton almost thinks Priest or Dirk had just gone to take a leak since the engine is still running and the lights are still on. But then he notices another car stopped behind theirs, dead with the hood popped open and random mechanic’s tools scattered on the dirt ground around it.

_Something’s definitely not right._

Norton goes back into the car, immensely relieved to find Priest’s bags still inside, and rummages through one of them. He finds a pistol in it, clip full, and stuffs it in the back of his jeans - _damn them_ \- under his shirt before going to the front seat and checking the glove compartment. He finds a torch in there, along with the painkillers Dirk had been giving him, and thanks whatever god is out there for small mercies as he pops two pills into his mouth before leaving the car.

He shines the torch on the ground, looking for tracks, and finds four sets of footprints in the dirt, deep and undisturbed - which means they haven’t been left there long - and follows them until they disappear into the grass up the side of a hill. He turns off the torch, then, climbing the hill carefully, keeping low in case of whatever might be on the other side.

There’s nothing, except for rows and rows of densely-packed fir trees, and Norton curses under his breath. Then he sees a piece of ripped cloth dangling from a low-hanging branch a few feet away and walks towards it, the uneasy feeling in his chest increasing tenfold when he realizes that it’s from the shirt Dirk had been wearing earlier.

Norton clenches his jaw, running through a million and one scenarios of what might’ve happened to the two of them, not liking any of them even a little bit.

He tries to gauge what direction Dirk might’ve been pulled in to have left that ripped piece of his shirt, and notices that there’s actually a well-trodden path between the trees, narrow and twisting. Norton follows it.

It gets darker the deeper he wanders in, the trees blocking out any light from the moon or the stars, but Norton’s eyes adjust enough that he manages not to trip over anything. More than once, he hears something creak in the dark, feels the odd sense that something is watching him, but he tries not to dwell on it.

His priority is to find Dirk and Priest, and he’ll be damned if he fails just because he’s got an overactive imagination.

After what seems like forever, the path leads back up another hill, and Norton is sure the sounds he’s starting to hear aren’t just in his head. There are faint shouting and hollering, and the general cacophony of human activity, and Norton climbs halfway up the hill before he drops to his front and crawls the rest of the way up.

The scene he finds beyond the hilltop is exactly what he’d feared he would.

The hill drops to a small clearing which is surrounded by more hills and trees, brightly-lit by a large bonfire burning fiercely in the centre. There’s a beaten-down truck missing all four of its wheels to the left of the area, strings of what seem to be human skulls dangling from the side-view mirrors and the rusted-out front bumper. Empty, crushed cans of beer are littered all over the place, and in front of the truck are two men adding more to the mess.

They’re dressed like park rangers, or what Norton thinks park rangers are supposed to look like. They’re in identical uniforms, anyway, off-grey shirts tucked into high-waisted dark brown pants and thick-soled boots on their feet. They’ve got tasers in holsters around their waists, and they’re dancing around in drunken merriment, the primary source of all the noise Norton had heard from afar.

Across from them, on the other side of the bonfire, are Dirk and Priest, trussed up back to back on the dirt ground like a Thanksgiving turkey. Priest looks absolutely furious, but Norton can’t see Dirk from his position, and he worries about the other man’s state.

A few feet away from them are a couple of lawn chairs, with a man and a woman sat in each. They’re dressed similarly to the other two men, but the woman has her sleeves torn off at the shoulders and her hair is a mass of curly red that’s likely not to any standard regulation.

It takes Norton less time to figure out a plan to save Dirk and Priest than it had for him to get to the clearing.

Taking a deep breath, Norton pulls the gun out from behind him, takes aim, exhales, and shoots. The bullet lodges itself into the centre of the woman’s forehead, and she drops backwards on the lawn chair like like a sack of potatoes. Norton fires again before the man next to her even notices, straight in the heart.

The two men across the bonfire aren’t drunk enough to not see their friends fall or hear the gunshots for what they are, and with confused shouts, they rush towards them. Norton stands, doesn’t think, just aims again and shoots them both in each leg, just above the backs of their knees.

They fall forward to the ground with cries of pain, clutching at their legs. Norton slides down the hill and walks towards them slowly, patiently waiting for them to see him. They’ve turned over onto their backs, looking around frantically like panicked chickens.

“What the fuck!” one of them shouts when he finally spots Norton, pointing at him with a bloody finger. “Who the _fuck_ are you?”

The other one is stupider, drawing his taser and aiming it at Norton. Norton sidesteps the electrodes and the wires easily, and shoots the man’s trigger hand without blinking. He screams, dropping the taser and pulling his hand close to his chest as Norton walks closer.

“Oh my god!” he blabbers, “Oh god, oh god, my _hand_! Frank, my hand!”

“Jesus Christ,” the other man - Frank - breathes, eyes widening with fear as he stares up at Norton.

“Well, now I’m short one bullet, but there’s still _two_ of you,” Norton says sourly, stopping a foot away from them. Not-Frank has rolled over, trying in vain to drag himself away with one hand. “I’ll have to find another way to kill one of you, then. Not a very smart move, was it, poppet?”

Frank is visibly trembling, and Norton watches dispassionately as the seat of his pants darkens. He’s pissing himself. Disgusted, Norton looks over at Dirk and Priest. Priest doesn’t seem to have any visible injuries, but from where he’s standing now, Norton can see that Dirk is leaning sideways, unconscious, one corner of his forehead red and bruising.

Fury flares through him, and Norton stomps down hard on Frank’s right leg, directly where his bullet wound is bleeding through his pants. He screams pathetically, thrashing about.

“Which one of you touched him?” Norton snarls, grinding his foot down.

Frank screams louder, and Not-Frank sobs loudly, stopping in his futile efforts to look over his shoulder at his friend.

“Stop it, man,” he snivels. “Just stop!”

Norton slams the butt of his gun into Frank’s head, and his screams halt abruptly as he falls to the ground, knocked out. Stepping off of him, Norton looks over at Not-Frank, who whimpers miserably.

“Was it you?” Norton asks. “Your other friend? That _ginger shrew_? Answer me!”

Not-Franks shakes his head, his face a mess of snot and tears. “No, no, we didn’t hurt him, I swear,” he babbles. “We didn’t touch either of them, we found them like this!”

Norton aims the gun at his head, and Not-Frank starts shrieking, covering his head with his arms like they’re any sort of protection against _bullets_.

“Oh, fuck, it’s the truth, man, don’t shoot me, don’t shoot me, oh god!”

“Norton.”

It’s Priest, and Norton tilts his head to the side to show he’s listening, but doesn’t look away from Not-Frank.

“He ain’t lyin’,” Priest says. “Untie me. There’s a Project loose in the woods. He’s gonna come back soon and you can’t take him alone.”

“Project?” Norton echoes, lowering his gun. It takes a moment for him snap out of his vengeful thoughts, a moment to realize the seriousness of Priest’s words.

He’s by Priest’s side immediately, then, stuffing his gun back behind him as he hastily unties the ropes.

“What’s his holistic thing?” Norton asks Priest as he pulls at the knots, huffing when they fail to give.

“Possession,” Priest tells him. “He stuffs a stone in things and he controls them indefinitely.”

Norton manages to pull the ropes loose, and Priest wriggles until he manages to slip free. Dirk falls over immediately without Priest holding him up, and Norton grunts as he catches him before he lands on the ground. He feels Priest grab the gun from behind him, standing up.

“Get Dirk back to the car,” Priest says, and Norton tries to stand, only to fall back to his knees, Dirk flopping against him, deadweight. He realizes with disdain that he’s still too physically weak to even drag the unconscious man anywhere.

“He’s too heavy,” Norton says, looking up at Priest. “Can’t you just take out the Project?”

“Bastard’s slippery,” Priest says, frowning as he scans the area around them. “He’s too smart to show up to a fair fight in his own body; chances are, he left to possess somethin’ else.” Priest tenses up, his gaze fixed in the direction of where Norton had left Not-Frank. “You hear that, Norton?”

Norton strains his ears, realizing in an instant what Priest means. Looking over at Not-Frank, he hisses at Priest, “I didn’t kill him yet!”

Something rises from under the now-dead Not-Frank, a lumpy, mud-coloured thing that doesn’t resemble anything close to human. Norton watches with morbid fascination as the thing starts to engulf Not-Frank’s body, seemingly absorbing him into itself and subsequently growing bigger. It’s almost as tall as Priest by the time Not-Frank is completely sucked into it, and it seems to gain more definition, tentacles sprouting out of its sides in semi-defined arms.

Priest giggles, which makes something in Norton tick with annoyance.

“Take Dirk,” Norton snaps at him. “I’ll distract it long enough for you to get back to the car!”

Priest shakes his head, pointing the gun at the thing, which is now slowly, but steadily, lumbering towards them.

“There’s only one bullet left in that thing,” Norton says desperately. “I’m _faster_ than you, Priest! It’s our best chance!”

Norton sees Priest clenching his jaw, his hold on the gun tightening. “If it gets Dirk, I’ll never forgive you,” Norton swears, and Priest lets out a string of expletives as he finally bends down and thrusts the gun into Norton’s hand before grabbing Dirk and lifting him up into his arms.

“Ten minutes,” Priest grunts out as Norton stands up.

“More than enough, petal,” Norton scoffs, and Priest is moving, setting off in the direction where Norton had come down from.

Norton turns towards the mud-thing, which is already changing directions to follow after Priest and Dirk.

“Cooey!” Norton shouts at it, waving his arms around. “Over here, you big ugly _thing_!”

The thing doesn’t even pause, and Norton curses again, looking around for something to throw at it. The nearest things to him are the lawn chairs where the redhead and the third man are still half-lying on and Norton grabs the ends of one of them, turning it over until the dead body slips off. It strains the stitches on his chest as he tosses it as hard as he can at the mud-thing, but it slams against its side and sticks there, stalling it for a moment.

It shifts around, like it’s looking for the source of its distraction, and Norton can feel it _looking_ at him, even though it doesn’t have any visible eyes. Even so, it does start creeping towards him instead, and Norton glances over at Priest. He’s nowhere in sight, much to Norton’s relief, but the thing is somehow moving faster now than before.

Norton realizes that it’s slightly bigger, too, noticing that it had apparently absorbed the lawn chair into itself.

“Right, can’t throw anything at you, got it,” Norton mumbles to himself before running towards the mud-thing.

It throws out its arms as Norton gets closer, but he slides down under one of its tentacles, just to its side, and scrambles back onto his feet behind it before running towards the bonfire. He’s shocked when he trips over nothing, and rolls over to find that its tentacles are capable of extending further than they look, and one of them’s wrapped firmly around Norton’s left ankle.

“Honestly,” Norton groans as he’s dragged towards it.

He kicks at the tentacle around his ankle with his free leg, and it flinches, its hold loosening enough for Norton to pull away from it. Jumping to his feet, Norton keeps moving towards the bonfire. There are several branches jutting out from it, not quite finished burning, and Norton grabs one of them, hauling it round and holding it in front of him in the direction of the mud thing.

It cowers away from him, much to Norton’s delight.

“Don’t like fire, do you?” Norton asks rhetorically, swiping at the air threateningly. The mud-thing flinches back in response, shrinking into itself. It looks almost remorseful, and Norton’s about to throw the branch at it when something wraps around his waist and lifts him up, off the ground.

He drops the branch and his gun in surprise, and then he’s thrown to the side, landing on the ground painfully on his back.

“You’re not Icarus,” someone says.

Groaning in pain, Norton sits up, seeing a man with wavy, dark hair and a solid black tattoo ringed around his neck like a collar. He’s dressed very casually; a loose black hoodie and black skinny jeans, sneakers that have seen better days. He looks out of place there - like a teenager that’s snuck out past curfew - and there’s something even more bizarre standing by his side. It looks like an oversized, decomposing wolf, pieces of its flesh missing from parts of its body, empty, hollow sockets on its face where its eyes are supposed to be. It also has tentacles sprouting from its back like prehensile appendages and Norton is tempted to drop back down and just play dead.

“Did Cain take Icarus away?” the man asks, tilting his head innocently.

“Bugger off,” Norton snaps, glancing over to where his gun had fallen. If he could just make it there fast enough-

“Don’t be rude,” the man says, and Norton just about manages to roll over when the dead-wolf bounds over to him, nearly crushing him under its large paws.

Its head turns towards Norton, snarling silently, and Norton scrambles back from it, genuinely afraid. Up close, he can see right through its sockets to its dead brain, smell the stench of death and decay coming off it in waves, and Norton holds a hand over his mouth and nose, gagging.

“Do you like him?” the man asks suddenly. “I made him two days ago. It’s the longest living hybrid I’ve managed.”

“Sounds lovely,” Norton chokes out, coughing.

“I need Icarus,” the man says, walking over to Norton. “You look like him. I didn’t know Icarus could make people, too.”

Tearing his eyes away from the dead-wolf, Norton glares at the approaching man. “How do you know I’m not him?” he tries, discretely dragging his hand behind him and digging his fingers into the ground, grabbing as much dirt as he can.

The man shakes his head, chuckling, “I just saw him. His hair’s different.” He stops walking for a moment, studying Norton intently before he says, “ _You’re_ different. Our Universe didn’t make you.”

Norton rises to his feet at the same time he tosses the ball of dirt he’s gathered in the man’s face before sprinting as fast as his feet can carry him, away from the clearing. He hears the man cry out in indignation, ignores it in favour of grappling up the nearest hill. It’s steeper than the side he’d come from, but it’s his closest option at the moment.

He can hear the wolf bounding after him, and Norton climbs faster than he ever thought he could, scrabbling through stone-hard dirt and stray grass frantically. He reaches the top of the hill just in time for the wolf to snap its jaws at his feet before it slips back down the hill, too heavy to maintain the vertical position for long, and Norton stumbles and rolls down the other side of the hill before he can regain his balance, breaking through stray branches along the way.

Once he stops rolling, Norton uses a nearby tree for support to get to his feet, and he pushes past more branches, blindly running. He knows his stitches have reopened because the front of his shirt is sticking to his skin, and there’s pain throbbing through him with every breath he takes. But he doesn’t have time to evaluate the damage; he’s still far too close to the man and his monsters to breathe comfortably.

It’s too dark to see anything further than an inch in front of him, and Norton stumbles over rocks and broken boughs on the ground, the sound of his laboured breathing too loud in his own ears, and he can just hope that he’s headed in the right direction.

And then he crashes headfirst into something soft and firm, and arms are wrapping around him, and Norton cries out in alarm, swinging his arms around and struggling to break free.

“Calm down!”

It’s Priest.

Norton almost cries in relief, throwing his arms around the other man’s neck and breathing him in deeply. Then he realizes that Priest is alone, and he pulls back quickly.

“Where’s Dirk?” he asks, panicking, but Priest just puts a finger to his own lips and grabs Norton’s hand, pulling him along behind him. “Where are we going?” Norton asks frantically.

“Be quiet,” is all Pries tells him, and Norton shuts up, if only because he’s too tired to argue.

He hurts all over, and he’s not ashamed to admit that he’s immensely glad to have Priest with him, even though there’s a niggling feeling in the back of his mind that’s telling him something’s not quite right.

As he stares at Priest’s back, stumbling after him, letting himself be dragged along without protest, Norton finally realizes what it is that’s off.

_He’s got no scar_ , Norton thinks blankly, but the hold on his hand is vice-like, and even as Norton drops down to his knees, trying to make himself as heavy as he possibly can, the thing that’s stolen Priest’s body and his voice just stops in its steps and turns its head to look down at Norton over its shoulder, its grip not even loosening.

“Let go,” Norton says breathlessly, pulling out the torch in his pocket with his free hand and shining the light up at the thing.

It doesn’t even flinch at the brightness, staring back at Norton dispassionately, and Norton sees that its eyes are blank and lifeless, and he wants to slap himself for not noticing earlier. He’d _hugged_ the thing, for fuck’s sake. Norton feels _dirty_ just thinking about it, disgust crawling all over his skin.

“What’s wrong,” the thing asks flatly.

“Let go of me,” Norton repeats, tugging at his hand.

The thing simply tugs back, and its strength jolts Norton off his knees, tumbling forward and nearly planting face-first into the ground if he hadn’t dropped the torch and used his free hand to stop his fall.

“Get up,” the thing says.

“No,” Norton refuses, and the thing loses patience.

It hauls Norton up towards it, and Norton can do little else than yelp as he lands into its arms as it wraps them around his waist, lifting him up onto its shoulder.

“Let go of me!” Norton yells, punching his fists against the thing’s back, kicking his legs out and struggling as much as he can, trying to dislodge himself from its hold. “Put me down, you stupid brute!”

The thing doesn’t seem affected at all, however, keeping one arm wrapped immovably tight around Norton’s middle as it keeps walking through the trees. The only thing Norton manages to achieve is to tire himself out, and eventually, he’s just hanging limply off of the thing’s shoulder. The pain from his chest wound is slowly returning to remind him of his sorry state, and Norton grimaces to himself in the dark.

“Where are you taking me?” he asks after a while, not really expecting a reply.

He doesn’t get one. The thing remains silent, and Norton sighs. “Is it going to be much further?” he asks, half of him sick of the sound of the thing’s footsteps crunching in the otherwise silence of the woods, the other half hoping to annoy it out of saying _something_. “Are you working for that prick back there? The one with that dead thing as a pet? Are _you_ dead, too? What’s your story, then, petal?”

Norton jerks in shock when a hard smack lands painfully on his buttocks, and he twists around to send the side of the thing’s head a disbelieving look.

“Did you just _spank_ me?” he demands.

“Be quiet,” the thing says.

“Keep your bloody hands to yourself!” Norton snaps, feeling insulted. Honestly, of all things. He hasn’t been spanked since before he’d run away from home as a child. “If you’d wanted me to be quiet, you should’ve let go of me when I asked you to the first time.”

The thing stops walking abruptly, and Norton is thrown onto his arse on the ground in front of it, catching half his weight on his elbows. Jarring pain shoots up his back and his arms, and Norton flinches, exhaling sharply. He hears the thing doing something, but he can’t see what, and then it’s crouching down in front of him. Norton tries to scramble away, but his movements are sluggish, his body more worn out that he’d thought, and it manages to clamp a hand on his shoulder, halting his movements.

“Hold on,” it says, and then Norton’s blinded by a flash of bright light.

\---

When the light clears, Norton finds himself sitting on soft grass, in the middle of what he first thinks is a garden.

A closer look around him tells him that it’s actually a large room that’s been painted and decorated to _look_ like a garden - complete with realistic bushes of a variety of flowers and a fake little pond with toy ducks lined up alongside the banks - and it’s really convincing up until Norton looks up at the ceiling and sees no sky; just a criss-cross of thick, metal beams and dark rafters with closed walkways that lead towards ominous, closed doors in the walls.

Norton’s too busy gaping up at the sight to realize he’s not alone, not until a hand grabs onto his wrist and pulls him up to his feet roughly. The action jostles him, and Norton cries out as pain wracks through his chest, curling forward instinctively as his free arm wraps around his waist.

“Could you _not_ tug me around like a toy, you damned brute?” Norton bites out between heavy pants, hunched over but looking up just enough to glare at the thing that still looks like Priest.

In the brightness of the room, he looks much more real than he had in the woods, but also much more inhuman. Although it’s identical to Priest, its eyes are empty; black, bottomless pits of _nothing_ , and there’s a stiffness in its shoulders, an unnatural air to how it holds itself. Norton really can’t believe he’d ever mistaken this thing for Priest.

“D-Dirk? Dirk, is that you?”

Norton turns his head to find the source of the new voice, sees a small, scruffy looking man sitting on the grassy ground a few feet away with his arms pulled behind his back and his feet bound in front of him at the ankles. His scowling expression becomes incredibly relieved when Norton looks at him, and then he’s smiling, tired but visibly pleased.

“Oh my god, Dirk, you have no idea how glad I am to see you!” the man exclaims, and before Norton can correct him, the Priest-thing is tugging at his arm again, so sudden that Norton stumbles. “No, wait, wait, wait!” the man shouts as Priest-thing drags Norton away. “Where are you taking him! Leave him alone! _Come back_!”

Norton looks over his shoulder to see the man struggling valiantly against his bonds, and feeling sorry for the bloke, he shouts at him, “I’m not Dirk!” which causes the man to pause in his squirming to look at him with confusion. “He’s fine, he’s with Priest!” Then, realizing a second later that he’s also standing with something that looks like Priest, adds, “I mean the real Priest!”

“What?” Norton hears the other man utter, but Priest-thing throws Norton forward through a doorway before Norton can hear anything else, and he falls onto a red carpeted floor in a ball of pain.

“I told you to be quiet,” Priest-thing says, as he steps in behind Norton.

Norton pushes himself up into a sitting position, gritting his teeth against the throbbing in his chest, in his arm, and all over his body in general. He wants so badly to spit a witty retort back at the thing, but he’s sure that all that’s gonna come out if he opens his mouth is a whine of pain.

He gasps when a hand grabs a fistful of his hair and drags his head up painfully until he’s looking up, and he finds himself meeting the eyes of the madman from the woods. The bastard doesn’t say anything, shoving a hard, round thing between Norton’s lips before Norton can stop him, and he tastes something bitter and cold on his tongue.

The man’s fingers push whatever it is further into Norton’s mouth, until he’s choking and gagging on it, and Norton ends up swallowing whatever it is as he breaks out into hacking coughs and the man finally withdraws both his hands from him. Norton falls down to the ground on his side, grabbing at his throat, trying to catch his breath as panic builds up inside him.

He’s got no idea what it was, and that terrifies him. It could be poison, or something worse, and Norton can practically _feel_ it crawling down his throat and into his stomach, helpless to stop it.

Something in his belly clenches tightly, the muscles in his abdomen cramping up, and Norton curls up into himself, his knees almost up to his forehead as his whole body spasms. Everything _hurts_ , and the only thing he can make out is a stabbing ache in his gut and his wrist that makes him want to tear through his skin to pull out the source of it.

It’s almost as bad as the Hive’s touch, except, it’s coming from _inside_ him, and Norton writhes, his back bowing tautly, desperate for the pain to end. He doesn’t realize he’s screaming until his airway is cut off and there’s a deafening silence in his ears, and he chokes out a gob of blood onto the ground next to his head, feeling a disgusting trail of it dribbling down the corner of his mouth.

Just like that, the spiking pain inside him stops, and Norton feels lightheaded and several decades too _tired_ , panting slowly for breath as his body relaxes in a slump.

“It didn’t work,” he faintly hears the madman saying, and even in his muddled state of mind, Norton can hear an almost reverent awe in his tone. It puts him instantly on edge.

He knows he’s on the verge of losing consciousness, weak and drained, and there’s nothing he can do when hands slip under his shoulders and he’s pulled up and into someone’s arms. His eyes have already slipped shut, and Norton hates it, but he can’t find the strength to stop those same hands from wiping at his mouth tenderly, cleaning the drool and the blood away.

He hates how nice it feels.

“Keep an eye on Brotzman,” Norton hears the madman say, his breaths beating warmly against the top of Norton’s head.

“What about this one?” the Priest-thing asks.

Norton can’t stay awake long enough to hear the answer to its question.

\---

Norton wakes up to warm hands wandering lightly up his sides, fingers tracing his skin in feather-light touches.

It doesn’t take long for his mind to recall the last thing that had happened before he’d blacked out, and he keeps his eyes closed, his breathing slow and even, waiting.

The owner of the hands don’t seem to realize that he’s awake, and it takes great effort for Norton not to show his disgust as the hands keep moving, going from his sides up to his chest, brushing over his nipples before trailing down his middle and pausing just above his groin.

When they start moving further down, Norton grabs at their wrists, eyes flying open.

“You’re supposed to buy me dinner first,” he says, swallowing back his revulsion when he discovers who’s been molesting him.

The madman from the woods smiles down at him, looking genuinely pleased. “I fixed your broken parts,” he tells Norton gently as he shakes his hands free of Norton’s hold. “You’re almost brand new.”

Norton’s lying on top of the plush, red covers of a large bed, as naked as the day he was born. His stitches had been cleaned out, he realizes, and replaced with new ones, neat and clinical. He’s still covered in several nasty bruises all over, but he doesn’t feel anything. There’s a strange absence of pain, and Norton shudders internally, wondering what the utter fuck the sick bastard had done to him while he was out.

The madman is sitting on the side of the bed, and he stands as Norton pushes himself up onto his elbows, pretending that he’s not at all fighting down the very insistent urge to hide himself from this man’s wandering eyes.

“My stone didn’t work on you,” the man says, again in that awed tone from before. He looks almost adoring as he stares down at Norton. “I’ve never met someone that I couldn’t control.”

_That doesn't sound completely unhealthy at all_ , Norton thinks faintly as he keeps his expression blank, saying out loud, “I’d like some clothes, please.”

The man smiles again, and Norton thinks he might refuse, except he turns around and walks towards a dresser nearby, pulling out one of the drawers and rifling through it. Norton looks around the room quickly, searching for anything he could use as a weapon, but there’s nothing save for pillows and blankets.

The room they’re in looks like a hotel’s minimal bedroom, with pastel green walls and dark grey carpeted floors. Besides the bed and the dresser, there aren’t any other furnishings, and there’s only one door, across the bed. No windows.

Norton forces himself to relax as the man turns back towards him, holding what looks like a piece of light blue cloth in his hands. He approaches the bed again, sitting back down on it by Norton’s side as he passes the cloth to him.

Norton holds it out, realizes its a stupid cotton _dress_ \- thin and loose, with a white-collared neck - and feels his stomach lurch.

The man is looking expectantly at him, and Norton weighs out his options. Despite not being in anymore pain, Norton knows he’s too weak to fight him, not without a weapon. The man's taller and broader than him, and there’s no possible way he could overpower him. There’s also no guarantee he could even leave the room if he does somehow manage to knock the man out; he doesn't know if the door is locked, or even what’s beyond it.

Choking on his pride, Norton rolls out the other side of the bed and proceeds to figure out how to put the bloody dress on.

It buttons up from the front, and Norton steps into it, pulling it up his legs and slipping his arms through the sleeves awkwardly. It’s shorter than it looks, on Norton’s height and build, and Norton discovers with dismay that it only barely reaches down the middle of his thighs. He feels humiliated and ashamed as he buttons it closed, his hands shaking minutely with how much he wants to murder the madman in the room with him.

_It’s like being back in the gang, again, playing all the girl parts none of the other boys could, not quite as well as him._

Norton jumps when a hand lands on his shoulder, turning to see the man standing close. He’s holding something up in his other hand, and Norton blanches as he takes it from him, realizing almost hysterically that it’s a pair of lacey, black and white panties.

“You’re beautiful,” the man tells him, as if that’s supposed to make Norton feel better.

Clenching his jaw, Norton steps away from the man and turns away from him as he bends to step into the underwear, pulling them up under the dress as quickly as he can. They’re admittedly soft against his skin, and it bothers him immensely that he can somehow still manage to snugly fit everything into them. He doesn’t think that’s a coincidence at all, and the thought makes him feel violated in multiple ways.

He wonders how long he’s been unconscious, which parts of his body this man had considered _broken_ and how much he’d done to _fix_ them.

Norton feels like crying, wishing Priest were with him.

The man touches his elbow, and Norton reluctantly lets him guide him towards the door. “You can call me Eli,” the man says as he pulls out a key with his other hand and fits it into the lock under the doorknob. “What’s your name?”

“Whatever you want it to be,” Norton says, and the man frowns, pausing after turning the key to look at Norton with disapproval.

“I don’t like naming my dolls,” he says sulkily, but then he smiles. “If you tell me your name, I’ll let you play with Brotzman,” he offers, looking pleased with himself at the suggestion.

It takes a moment for Norton to connect Brotzman to the small man in the garden room, the one who’d confused Norton for Dirk. Norton has no idea if the man is even a friend of Dirk’s, or a Blackwing agent, or whatever else, but the prospect of spending time with anyone but this madman, Eli, is too good to pass up.

Even so, Norton doesn’t want to give him his name; it’s one too many personal things the man would know about him.

“Gerald,” Norton settles on saying, and it feels odd to have it roll off his tongue so easily. It’s been a long time since he’s mentioned his brother by name, but at least it’s something he won’t easily forget. “My name is Gerald.”

Eli’s smile widens, and he pockets the key before twisting the doorknob and pushing the door open. “It suits you,” he says, gesturing for Norton to step out first.

_No, it doesn’t, you psychotic bastard_ , Norton thinks vindictively, but he smiles thinly at him as he goes through the door.

It leads out to a long hallway, lined with several other doors, all closed shut. There’s a fork at the other end of it, and Eli gestures for him to turn left as they reach it, and there’s a doorway covered with a red, velvet curtain. Eli pulls the curtain aside, and Norton walks past it, entering the room from before, where Eli had forcefed what Norton now knows had been one of his stones, the ones Priest had said he uses to possess things.

It’s clean now, not a trace of what had happened before, and Norton sees the garden room beyond another doorway on the other side of the space. His steps quicken towards it, but Eli catches his arm before he can get far, and Norton has to bite back a groan of frustration as he turns to look at him questioningly.

“He’s important to Icarus,” Eli says, nodding towards the garden room. “Don’t play too rough.” He lets go of Norton’s arm, adding, “I’ll be back in a bit with some food.”

With that, he turns back around and goes back through the curtain, and Norton wonders if he’d told him that on purpose, or he’s just overly confident that there’s no way for Norton to escape this place, wherever it is.

Norton decides not to dwell on it, and rushes through to the garden room. The scruffy man is exactly where Norton had last seen him, though he looks far more tired than before. He perks up when he sees Norton, however, jaw dropping a moment later as he stares wide-eyed.

“What are you _wearing_?” he asks, shocked, and Norton stops a few feet away from him, _almost_ blushing.

“Shut up,” he says, “You friend is a demented pervert. It was either this or go naked, and you’re not lucky enough to be getting _that_ show today.”

The man grimaces sympathetically at that, before saying defensively, “He’s not my _friend_ , he’s _yours_ ,” then shakes his head and adds, “Or, not yours, I guess? Just- he knows Dirk, okay?”

Norton huffs, moving closer until he’s by the other man’s side, and drops down to his knees to reach behind him and undo the ropes tying his hands behind his back.

“Who _are_ you, anyway?” the man asks, “You look exactly like Dirk.”

“Call me Gerald,” Norton grunts at him as he tries to get the ropes loose. “What about you, petal? What’s your name and how on _earth_ did you end up with this sicko?”

“I’m Todd,” the man says, and Norton pauses, recognizing the name immediately. “And I don’t know, I was in Colorado with a friend, helping my sister with some stuff, and this guy just comes out of nowhere and ambushed us. I don’t even know if my sister and our friends are okay.”

Todd sounds palpably worried. “He’s looking for Dirk,” Norton tells him as he finally manages to untie the ropes, helping Todd pull out of the coils and tossing them aside. “Do you know why?”

“So you _do_ know Dirk,” Todd says, sounding accusatory as he proceeds to untie the ropes around his feet. “Is he okay? You said he was with Priest!”

Norton adjusts his legs until they’re folded under him, and sits back on the ground. “Your sister’s Amanda, right?” Norton asks him. “Met her a while ago in Oregon. Didn’t she tell you anything?”

Todd manages to undo the ropes much faster than Norton had, and he stretches his legs out with a relieved groan as he shoots Norton a frown.

“Wait, so _you’re_ the guy she was talking about,” he says with dawning realization before looking confused once more. “But she said your name was-”

“Ah, ah, ah, shh, shh!” Norton hushes him, pressing a hand over his mouth as he looks over at the doorway before looking back at Todd. “I’m _Gerald_ ,” he says pointedly, raising his brows in warning. “Let’s go with that, shall we?”

Todd nods slowly, thought he still looks terribly confused, and Norton pulls back his hand. “Good,” he says. “Smart man.”

“Okay, fine, _Gerald_ ,” Todd says, standing up. “How do we get out of here?”

Norton looks up at him, giving him a flat stare. “I don’t know, let me check my collection of maps to evil madmen’s lairs,” he says sardonically, rolling his eyes. “Oh, wait, that’s right; _I don’t have one_ , Todd, surprise surprise!”

Todd looks down at him, shocked. “That’s,” he starts, stops for a moment, then shakes his head. “That sounds like something Dirk would say, but you’re like, ten times more mean,” he confesses.

“It’s a gift,” Norton deadpans, imitating one of Dirk’s bright smiles. It’s probably not nearly as sincere as Dirk’s, but it’s convincing enough that Todd looks deeply disturbed at the sight.

Todd stares at him for a moment longer before he shakes his head, looking away and muttering, “This is just so weird.”

Norton snorts inelegantly. “Look,” he starts, more seriously, “God knows I want to get out of here as much as you do, but Eli was looking for Dirk for a reason, and he _almost_ got him.” Todd looks back at him, looking alarmed and Norton nods grimly. “We need to figure out _why_ first, and maybe find a way to off him, if we’re lucky,” Norton finishes.

“ _Off_ him?” Todd echoes, looking more alarmed. “You mean what? _Kill_ the guy?” he asks with disbelief.

Norton shrugs. “If we’re lucky,” he emphasizes.

Todd looks disturbed, then, shaking his head. “You are definitely _not_ Dirk,” he declares.

“Yes, yes, I thought we’d already established that,” Norton says impatiently, rolling his eyes again. “We’ve moved on to planning a murder, remember?”

Todd shakes his head, looking around the room again, moving towards a row of bushes with daisies growing out of it. “I think we should be figuring out how to escape first,” he says over his shoulder.

“What part of ‘the madman named Eli almost got Dirk’ did you not understand?” Norton demands, pushing off the ground to his feet to follow after Todd. “I’m sorry, I thought Dirk said that you were his _friend_.”

Todd freezes and whirls around, looking extremely angry. “I _am_ his friend,” he says vehemently.

“Then you’re a poor one if you can’t be bothered to find out why a psycho is trying to abduct him,” Norton snaps back.

“I’m being a friend by not doing something he’d be upset with even _considering_ ,” Todd says. “We’re talking about taking someone’s life!”

Norton glares at him, crossing his arms over his chest, about to say something harsh, when the sound of boisterous clapping echoes through the room.

They both turn to see Eli standing at the entrance to the room, grinning widely as he applauds. Three creepy-looking mannequins are standing next to him, faceless, their hands held up in front of them with trays of cupcakes, fruits and teacups.

“That was very entertaining!” Eli says, moving closer to them, and Norton tenses up as he fights back the urge to flee from him.

He carefully schools his face into a mask of blankness, and he sees Todd shoot him a concerned look in the peripheral of his vision as Eli strides up to his side and wraps a proprietary arm around his waist.

“I’m glad the two of you are having fun,” Eli says as he pulls Norton towards the mannequins. “But I’m sure you’d both like something to eat right now.”

“There’s nowhere to sit,” Todd says lamely, following after them.

Eli waves his words away, and two more mannequins stride in through the doorway in stiff, jerky movements. They stop near the other three before dropping to the ground on all fours and going rigid, their backs straight and flat.

Eli gestures for Todd to take a seat on one of them, and Todd does so hesitatingly, looking uncomfortable and tensed. Eli sits down on the other mannequin, pulling Norton down onto his lap, and Todd looks like he’s about to say something about it, but Norton gives him a warning look, and Todd just frowns instead.

“Please, help yourself,” Eli tells Todd, waving at the trays of food. He picks up a cupcake himself, holding it in front of Norton. “There you go, Gerald.”

Norton takes it without comment, staring down at the vanilla frosting. It has a smiley face drawn on it in pink frosting, and Norton feels like shoving it down Eli’s throat. His arm is still wrapped around Norton’s waist, and it’s suffocating.

Todd picks up an apple from one of the trays, looking at it dubiously.

Eli rests his chin on Norton’s shoulder, looking over at Todd, who stares at the action with pursed lips. “So, Brotzman,” Eli starts, “How long do you think it will take for Icarus to come save you with _both_ of you here now?”

Todd shakes his head. “I told you, Dirk’s not stupid,” he says firmly. “He’s not gonna fall for your trap.”

“But he cares about you,” Eli says petulantly, like a child. “You’re his _friend_.” Eli reaches up the hand that he’s got around Norton’s waist and cups at his chin, adding, “Gerald, too. He wants Gerald back. The Universe says so.”

Norton drops the cupcake onto Eli’s shoe. “Oops,” he says, and Eli lets go of his face, pushing him off of him.

Norton stumbles to his feet, turning to see Eli standing and looking down disgustedly at his frosting-covered sneakers. “ _Gerald_ ,” he says with exasperation. “You’re so clumsy.”

“Sorry,” Norton says, not at all meaning it.

Eli just shakes his head, looking at him with a fond smile. “It’s fine,” he says. “I’m going to get this cleaned. I’ll be back later.”

Eli leaves through the doorway, and Todd breathes out heavily the moment he’s gone.

“Are- Are you okay?” he asks Norton, looking at him with so much pity that Norton wants to punch the feeling out of him. “You weren’t kidding about the demented pervert part.”

“Quite,” Norton sniffs delicately.

“Norton Folgate,” a tinny voice says suddenly, and both Norton and Todd jump in surprise, looking around for the source of it.

“Norton Folgate,” it says again, and it’s Todd that realizes the voice is coming from one of the mannequins, the one holding the tray of cupcakes, as its head turns jerkily until it’s facing the general direction of the two of them. What makes it even weirder is the fact that it doesn’t even have a mouth.

“Oh my god, it’s _talking_ ,” Todd says, looking at it in horror.

Both he and Todd stand closer to each other, equally unnerved.

“Yes,” the mannequin says. “My name is Frae. I can help you get out of there.”

Norton shudders, eyeing the mannequin suspiciously. “Aren’t you one of Eli’s dolls?” Norton says.

“The mannequins are multi-purpose,” the mannequin says. “They also work as two-way radios. Now, listen; he’ll come back any second, we don’t have much time. You need to touch this doll. I can get you out of there.”

Norton shares a look with Todd. “How do we know it’s not a trick?” Todd asks bravely.

The mannequin almost looks annoyed, despite it not having a face. “You don’t,” it says obviously. “But it’s either me, or Eli. And nobody chooses Eli.”

The two of them share another look, and Norton nods curtly. “She’s got a point,” he says.

“Makes sense to me,” Todd agrees. “On three?” he asks.

“Three,” Norton says, and they both simultaneously reach out to put a hand on either of the mannequin’s shoulders.

“Close your eyes,” the voice says.

Even behind his eyelids, Norton sees the blinding light, and there’s no time to panic when he realizes that it’s the same exact light from when he’d been brought to this madhouse by the Priest-thing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hiiii.
> 
> 1- Gerald is for real, Norton's brother in the Torchwood universe. Although, no mentions of whether older or younger; just that 'he's the heir' while Norton's 'very much the spare'.


	9. BE BACK IN A BIT! :D

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Talks are had, Priest reveals his background and Norton just keeps getting into situations without even trying.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reference for Projects Banshee and Charon can be found here: [Project Banshee's Data File](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15859788/chapters/37407578) & [Project Charon's Data File](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15859788/chapters/37408229).
> 
> Priest gets really saucy in this one. He kisses _both_ Dirk and Norton, the slut. Not that I blame him. Nothing else sexual happens, though. 

Dirk wakes up slowly, vision blurry as he blinks. He’s looking up at something grey, and it takes a very, very long moment for him to recognize it as the ceiling of the car they’d borrowed from the hospital.

He shoots up swiftly into a sitting position when he remembers what had happened - the car, the crazy woman, the spanner in his face - and a sharp pain throbs through his head at the action.

“Oww,” he groans, grabbing at his head, and he startles when a hand on his shoulder pushes him back down, forcing him to lay on his back.

“You might have a concussion,” Priest is saying down at him, and his face is upside down over Dirk, silhouetted by the morning light.

“What?” Dirk asks blankly, frowning as he looks up at Priest.

Priest is standing outside the open door of the back passenger seat where Dirk is lying on, and he shakes his head at Dirk’s question.

“Drink some water, you’ve been out for hours,” he tells him, moving away from the door and to the other side.

Dirk winces as that allows sunlight to fall directly into his eyes, blinding him for a moment, and he sits back up, squinting at Priest as he pulls open the other door and leans in, rummaging through his bags on the floor of the car.

“What happened?” Dirk asks, rubbing at his forehead and letting out a hiss of pain when he brushes against a bruise.

Priest doesn’t answer immediately, pushing a bottle of water at him and watching expectantly until Dirk takes a long gulp from it.

“Project Golem happened,” Priest says as Dirk recaps the bottle. “Eli Lutkas, bona fide sociopath. He knocked you out.”

Dirk winces as he remembers the spanner and the man with the dark hair. “Did you kill him?” Dirk asks fearfully as he passes the bottle back to Priest.

Priest scoffs, stuffing the bottle into his bag and rummaging through it once more. “I can’t kill the Projects, Universe needs ‘em,” he says grudgingly. “If they die, it ain’t because of me.”

He pulls out a gun from his bag, and Dirk swallows uneasily as he watches him check the clip before straightening back up out the car.

“Bastard took us into the woods and left us there,” Priest tells Dirk, tucking the gun behind him and nodding at Dirk. “Norton found us, but we had to split up and he hasn’t come back yet. I’m gonna look for him. You should stay here.”

Dirk feels his blood freeze at that, his eyes widening. Priest shuts the door, and Dirk scrambles around and out the other door, stumbling after Priest, who’s climbing rapidly up a hill by the side of the road they’re stopped at.

“W-wait! Mr. Priest!” Dirk yells at him, wincing through his headache as he climbs after him. “I’m coming with you!”

Priest clicks his tongue irritably and stops, half-turning to give Dirk an unimpressed look. “If you think you can keep up,” he says, and Dirk promptly trips over a stray rock and falls face first onto the ground.

He groans, pushing himself up slowly, and hears Priest sigh heavily before climbing back down towards him and helping him stand back up.

“I don’t think I want to stay here alone,” Dirk tells him weakly, and Priest sighs again, squeezing his arms comfortingly.

They climb back up the hill together, and Priest keeps a firm hold on Dirk’s wrist, tugging on it whenever Dirk starts to wander off. Eventually, they end up at the foot of another hill, and Dirk gasps as they make it to the other side and sees an interesting clearing.

It’s huge, almost the size of an Olympic swimming pool from end to end, and on one side, there’s the rusted out remnants of a truck with no wheels, decorated with what look like human skulls. In the centre is the charred remains of a large pile of wood, and next to it is a lawn chair.

But Dirk’s really focused more on the dead bodies there, one half-lying on the lawn chair, and another sprawled on the ground a few feet away.

“This is a crime scene,” Dirk says with awe, pulling out of Priest’s hold to walk over to the bodies.

He passes by a gun on the ground, along with a half-burnt branch, and there are clumps of bloody-looking _things_ littering the ground in a trail that leads to the other side of the clearing, a larger pile of them gathered at the bottom of the steep hill there.

“Norton found us here last night,” Priest tells Dirk as he goes to the gun and crouches down to pick it up. He takes out the magazine and frowns, muttering, “One bullet left.”

Dirk stops next to the dead body on the lawn chair, and peers down at it hesitantly, making a face at the bullet hole in his chest, directly over his heart. Shuddering, he glances over the man’s shirt and spots the corner of something white poking out from his breast pocket. Gingerly, Dirk reaches for it and pulls it out quickly, stepping away from the body to unfold it.

It’s a flyer, white and black with cursive font. It says ‘BROADWAY MUSICAL’ in big, bold lettering on top, followed by ‘INTO THE WOODS’, and special promotional prices for tickets. On the bottom left corner is a happily scrawled, ‘ _See you there_!’.

“Mr. Priest,” Dirk calls out to Priest, looking down at the flyer with wide eyes.

Priest stands back up and moves over to him, reading the flyer over his shoulder. “New York, huh,” he says.

“HEY! Drop your weapons and put your hands in the air!” shouts a voice behind them, and they both whirl around to see a man in a county officer's uniform stumbling down the hill on the other side of the clearing.

Dirk squeaks and raises his arms immediately when the officer draws his gun as he strides over to them, but Priest just clicks his tongue irritably.

“Drop your weapons!” the officer repeats as he approaches, his glare at Priest faltering when he gets closer and sees the scar on his face.

“CIA, put your gun away,” Priest snaps at him, standing in front of Dirk and tossing a card he pulls out of his jacket at the officer.

The officer scrambles to catch it but misses and it falls onto the ground at his feet.

“Put your hands down, Svlad,” Priest tells Dirk annoyedly as he goes over to the officer, who’s picked up the card and is reading it and glancing up at Priest with apprehension.

“Uh, sorry, Agent- _Priest_? I’m Sergeant Aaron Gates,” the officer says, passing the card back to Priest when he’s close enough. “We got a call earlier about gunshots in the area, nobody told us anything about the CIA being involved.”

Priest shoots the man a sharp grin, shrugging. “Just doin’ your job, officer,” he tells the man with mocking kindness. “You just got here?”

Gates looks confused at the tone of his voice, like he can’t quite decide whether Priest is being sarcastic or not, but nods. “Yeah, um, we’re kind of short-handed at the station, and my partner came in sick, so I had to take him to the doctor’s first,” the officer explains sheepishly. He glances over at Dirk and asks, “That _your_ partner? He don’t look like a CIA agent.”

Priest waves his words away, explaining, “He’s new.”

Gates nods again, looking dubious, and Dirk grins brightly at him, giving him a small wave with the hand that’s still holding the flier.

“Right,” the officer says, smiling back with uncertainty. “Well, any ideas what happened here?” he asks as he looks around the area, his face looking slightly green when he sees the dead bodies. “Jesus Christ, that’s _Mandy_ ,” he mutters suddenly, eyes widening with horror.

He holsters his gun and rushes towards the body on the ground, a woman with red hair, and drops to his knees next to her. Leaning over her, he grabs her shoulders and turns her over, pulling her up.

“That’s evidence, Sergeant,” Priest tells him.

“Oh, God, I told her this would happen!” Gates bemoans, clutching the dead woman close to him. “I told her if she messed around with the dang park rangers she’d get herself killed!”

“Was she your girlfriend?” Dirk asks him sympathetically.

Gates shakes his head, looking sad and pathetic when he tells him, “She was my neighbour, she pet-sits for me while I’m at work. She didn’t answer my calls this morning, but I just thought she’d had a rough night.”

“She’s better off dead, then,” Priest mutters quietly under his breath and Dirk can’t help but agree, except, Priest looks like he’s maybe one more word away from shooting the Sergeant, so he keeps his mouth shut.

“Look, Sergeant, you really should put her back down,” Priest tells Gates. “The way she originally was, maybe. This _is_ a crime scene.”

“She had so much to live for,” Gates wails, not seeming to hear him.

Dirk sees Priest’s brow twitch in annoyance and decides to intervene before he _does_ end up shooting the poor officer. “Well, Sergeant Gates,” he says, walking over to Priest and pushing him towards the other side of the clearing. “It’s been a pleasure to meet you, but we’ve got a missing person to look for, so, _this_ case is _all_ yours!”

Gates still doesn’t seem to hear anything, and Dirk pulls Priest off to the side of the clearing with the steep hill and the pile of what look like decaying flesh up close at the base of it.

“This,” Dirk tells Priest, shoving the flyer at Priest. “I think it’s got to do with Norton!”

Priest takes the flyer and looks at it again. “Universe tellin’ us he’s in New York?” he asks rhetorically.

“Either he’s already there, or he’s going to be,” Dirk agrees, glancing back at Gates, who’s still lamenting over Mandy’s unfortunate death. “Norton killed Mandy, didn’t he?” he asks with a sigh.

“She was probably a shit pet-sitter,” Priest says in reply.

Dirk sighs. “She’d better have been,” he mutters.

There’s a crackle of static in the air, and then Dirk can faintly hear a woman’s distorted voice saying through the walkie on Gates’s shoulder. “Dispatch to Sergeant Gates, over.”

Gates pulls himself together enough to sniff back into it, “Gates here, over.”

“We got multiple 12-28 in the area. Keep a look out for three white males, 30’s, two blonds and a brunette. One blond has a facial scar you can’t miss. Over.”

Dirk’s eyes widen and he turns back to Priest. “I think that’s our cue to leave,” he says in a rush, “ _Right now_.”

\---

After a short altercation with the officer, the two of them manage to get back to the car and drive off quickly.

It almost feels like giving up as Priest drives them further and further away, but Dirk knows without a doubt that they wouldn’t have found Norton in the woods. Staying there would’ve only resulted in Blackwing catching wind of their location, and getting caught again is really the last thing either of them are looking forward to.

Still, it doesn’t stop him from feeling uneasy about it, and when they stop later at a bed and breakfast in a town they pass through, eating in silence before checking into one of the rooms, Dirk’s uneasiness becomes almost impossible to ignore; Norton’s absence is like a sore thumb between them, and it’s _awful_.

“Stop it,” Priest says suddenly when Dirk comes out from the shower.

Dirk stops in the middle of the room and looks at him, wide-eyed and shocked. Priest is sitting on the bed, plugging in a charger into the wall and connecting his dead phone to it.

“You’re thinkin’ too fuckin’ loud,” Priest continues, shooting him a look.

Dirk deflates at that, moving over to the bed and falling face down on it tiredly. “I can’t help it,” he says into the sheets, voice muffled. “What if Norton’s _not_ in New York and the Universe just wants us to go there to get on with the case? What if he’s already _dead_ and that’s why we’re supposed to just _move on_?”

Dirk feels Priest touch the back of his head gently, and yelps when the man pushes him down hard into the mattress, smothering him, and Dirk flails until Priest lets go.

“What was _that_ for!” Dirk yells indignantly when he’s finally able to sit up, glaring at Priest who’s already turned back around to his phone.

“Bein’ an idiot,” Priest says simply, not even flinching when Dirk grabs a pillow and smacks it square on his back.

“You’re a _terrible_ partner!” Dirk tells him sulkily before hugging the pillow and sitting cross-legged in the middle of the bed. “This is why I need Norton,” he sniffs. “He’s a far better assistant than you.”

“He’s also not dead,” Priest retorts.

Dirk sighs at the reminder, and then Priest raises the phone as far as its charging cable would allow, and shows Dirk the screen.

“Someone’s been lookin’ for you, too,” he giggles.

Dirk squints at the screen and sees 56 missed calls from ‘Brotzman #2’, and his eyes widen as he makes grabby hands at the phone.

“It’s still chargin’,” Priest says, pulling it further from him. “C’mere and call her.”

Dirk huffs but crawls over to sit next to him, taking the phone from Priest and tapping on the message that says Amanda’s left them 12 voicemails.

He plays them on speaker, and Amanda’s pissed off voice rings throughout the small room, “ _DIRK, WHERE THE FUCK ARE YOU, I’VE CALLED LIKE, A MILLION TIMES-_ beep _." "Dirk, seriously, pick up the goddamn phone-_ beep _." "Hey, Scarface, if he’s not answering because of you, I’m gonna-_ beep _." "Dirk, c’mon, this is really important o-_ beep _._ ”

Dirk winces as the messages vary from angry to worried, to angry again, all of them cut off in the middle like Amanda hadn’t realized she’d been talking to the voicemail recorder in the first place. And then the last one plays, and she sounds much calmer, though no less worried.

“ _Look, I just had a vision that you guys were in trouble, okay, but I just got another one and you’re fine? So, sorry for the earlier calls, but please call me back and te-_ beep _._ ”

Dirk calls her number, almost dropping the phone when Amanda answers on the first ring, “ _Dirk_!”

“We got attacked by a Project!” Dirk tells her quickly. “And we’re fine, but Norton’s disappeared, so now we’re looking for him and I’m almost _sure_ that he might be in New York!”

“ _Fuck, so you’re_ not _in New York, yet_?” she asks, sounding simultaneously relieved but worried at the same time.

“Err, no?” Dirk tells her, glancing at Priest. “Why? Is that important?”

Amanda sighs through the phone, saying, “ _It’s nothing, just- get to New York in one piece. You’ll see when you get there_.”

“O-kay,” Dirk says slowly, brows scrunching up in confusion. “Well, since you’re on the phone, is Farah around?”

“ _Nuh-uh, buddy, you call her own number for that_ ,” Amanda says and Dirk can practically see her rolling her eyes. “ _Grow a pair, Dirk, you’re starting to sound like Todd. Bye_!”

“Amanda, wait!” Dirk shouts, but Amanda’s already hung up. “Nuts,” he says, looking down at the phone sadly.

Priest takes it from him and puts it on the bedside table. “She’s got a point,” he says, and Dirk groans, throwing himself onto his back on the bed.

“Shut up,” he says petulantly. “There’s a rule somewhere about you not being allowed to be in agreement with Amanda on anything. It’s a fundamental law in the interest of human social interaction and the balance of the Universe. No siding with Amanda.”

Priest laughs under his breath, and Dirk lets him move him around until Dirk’s lying properly on the bed and Priest joins him, sliding his arms around Dirk’s waist.

“Stop lyin’,” Priest says. “Just sleep.”

Dirk scoffs, glancing up at him, slowly putting his own hands on Priest’s arm over his belly and resting them there. “You’re a terrible cuddler, too,” he tells him. “Norton does it better.”

Priest’s arms tighten warningly around him as he says, “I can get us another room with separate beds.”

And Dirk pats his arm consolingly, replying, “Then again, you _do_ have a larger surface area compared to him; it seems more practical to use you, instead, more coverage. Also, hugging him’s like hugging myself, which is nice on some days, but is mostly confusing. Would that be considered incest, do you think? Or self-cest? Is that a _thing_? I don’t think we’re _actually_ related by blood bu-”

Priest’s hand rises to clamp over his mouth, shutting him up abruptly, and Priest grunts out, “Just shut up and sleep, Svlad,” and Dirk decides to take his advice before he resorts to other physical means to make him sleep.

“Hn-night, Mihter Pieft,” Dirk says under Priest’s hand and Priest sighs longsufferingly.

\---

They reach Manhattan almost a day later, and abandon the car somewhere at the bottom of a bridge at Dirk’s insistence. They take a cab until it gets stuck in traffic halfway, and then walk rest of the way there because Priest had gotten into an argument with the cab driver and had almost gotten shot. Because apparently, cab drivers in New York carry guns, too, and Dirk had insisted on taking his bags from him so that he wouldn’t be tempted to shoot anyone for no reason.

“It’s not for no reason if the guy’s got a gun on me, Svlad,” Priest says as they push through thick crowds of people on the pavement, trying to get Dirk to give him back his bags.

Dirk huffs as someone bumps past him without even an ‘excuse me’, hefting the heavy bags higher up his shoulders. “Yes, well, it’s your fault for calling his daughter an ugly little troll, isn’t it?” he shoots back at Priest. “I mean, I know I’m bad at socializing, but even _I_ know that’s not something you say to a proud dad.”

“If he’d wanted me to lie, he shouldn’t have asked for an opinion,” Priest grumbles.

“We’re here! Thank _god_ ,” Dirk says when he spots the Broadway Theatre’s large signage across the street from them, running through the busy traffic without a second thought and narrowly avoiding getting hit by several vehicles.

Cars honk and drivers yell angrily after him, but Dirk knows Priest is handling them because they shut up abruptly as Dirk reaches the theatre’s entrance, walking in eagerly.

“There’s nothing remotely related to any woods playing right now,” Dirk tells Priest later as he trudges out of the building and joins Priest where he’s smoking at the side of the street next to the theatre. “Although the cashier kindly recommended something called ‘Chicago’, which is very misleading, if you asked me, since it’s _New York_. Also, I’m not getting anything from here,” he adds with mild frustration, dropping the bags onto the pavement. “This is a _bust_.”

Priest drops his half-finished cigarette and grinds it under his boot. “It’s only one place,” he says reasonably. “New York’s big. We should keep looking.”

Dirk huffs, throwing his hands up and gesturing wildly around him - almost smacking other people on the pavement in the process - and asks with exasperation, “Where do you propose we even _start_?”

Priest shrugs. “A hotel,” he says. “Some shops. We need more clothes, and you’re hungry. Universe might tell you something after you eat.”

Dirk’s about to tell him that that’s one of the most ridiculous things he’s ever heard in his life - and there have been _plenty_ of those - when he realizes that it actually does make sense, because his stomach chooses to grumble loudly at that moment.

“I saw an Italian restaurant down the other street,” he says instead. “I think we should eat pasta.”

Priest smirks, shaking his head. “Whatever you want, darlin’,” he says agreeably.

They spend the rest of the afternoon - after some much needed food - going from shop to shop, maxing out one of the cards because Dirk never bothered to look at any of the price tags of the clothes he takes off the racks. Even so, the other one still works as they check into a hotel in the middle of Manhattan, and Dirk decides that they need the most expensively-priced room at the top of the building - the penthouse.

It’s _massive_ , and Priest offhandedly mentions that they don’t need two bedrooms, even after they’ve found Norton, but Dirk insists that they will. He only wins the argument because he tells the other man that he’ll get a better view of sniping anyone from the rooftop than anywhere else in the building, which Priest agrees with graciously.

“Jacuzzi!” Dirk shrieks excitedly from the second floor of the suite - an open-air section with a mini lounge - where there is, indeed, an unnecessarily large jacuzzi that looks like it could fit ten people in it, with room to spare. “Oh my god, we need to try it!”

He jumps into it, clothes and all, and settles into one corner comfortably, leaning against the side and letting out a sigh of contentment. He hears Priest’s steps climbing up the stairs, and tilts his head backwards to see him walking over to him, smirking.

“That’s not how you use a jacuzzi,” Priest tells him, amused.

“ _No_ , but it’s still quite impressive, isn’t it?” Dirk retorts. “I bet Todd would love this!”

Priest shakes his head, walking away towards the other side of the jacuzzi, where the area is sectioned off by a glass railing, overlooking the city.

“There’s another Project in the city,” he says, looking over the edge. “Besides Bogle. We need to be careful.”

Dirk perks up at that, crawling over the length of the jacuzzi and leaning over the other side that’s closer to Priest. “Which one? Is he dangerous?” he asks eagerly.

Priest shrugs, turning to look at him. “Not sure yet,” he says. “He’s not aggressive unless you give him a reason to be.”

Dirk folds his arms over the edge of the tub, leaning his chin down on them as he hums thoughtfully. “Two Projects, Norton missing, New York City, a client with a bounty on his head,” he trails off, brows furrowing. “I can’t tell how it’s all connected.”

He sighs, but then perks up, a sudden thought occurring to him. “Let’s take a walk to the park,” he says brightly.

Priest raises a brow at that, but shrugs. “If you let me bring a gun with me,” he says.

Drik groans, but stands and climbs out of the jacuzzi. “ _Fine_ , but no shootouts unless you’re dying,” he haggles. “Or _I’m_ dying.”

“The whole point is to use it _before_ either of that happens,” Priest points out.

Dirk shakes his head, going over to the stairs. “In my experience, they tend to happen _because_ you start shooting first,” Dirk says over his shoulder as he goes down the steps. “While I’m prone to having maniacs and mentally-unstable persons trying to kill me, having you around seems to be increasing the probable frequency of such incidents occurring.”

“Of course it has nothin’ to do with the Universe settin’ you up in situations where that tends to happen,” Priest replies sarcastically as he follows behind him.

“There you go again, blaming the Universe for everything,” Dirk says, rolling his eyes.

“You’re the one that brought it up,” Priest tells him, going into the master bedroom on the lower floor.

Dirk waits for him by the elevator in the living room, crossing his arms over his chest. “I’m not _blaming_ it, I was just stating a fact,” he argues.

Priest comes back out a few minutes later, shooting Dirk a look. “So was I,” he says when he reaches him, punching the elevator’s button next to Dirk. “Do I need to remind you that I’m supposed to be keepin’ you from gettin’ killed?” he asks Dirk wryly.

“Oh, are you?” Dirk asks, feigning surprise. “I thought you were here to kill people, sorry for jumping to conclusions considering you seem to be hopping onto every opportunity to do so.”

“Don’t tempt me into makin’ you one of ‘em,” Priest warns, just as the elevator dings its arrival.

Dirk rolls his eyes. “You promised Norton you’d play nice,” he reminds him. “Speaking of, why aren’t you _this_ annoying when he’s around?” he complains as he steps into the elevator.

“ _He_ knows when to shut up,” Priest says easily, stepping in after him and pressing the button for the lobby.

Dirk gasps loudly, looking offended. “That’s- he’s not- you’re just _bad_ at throwing ideas at! It’s not my fault you’re not giving me any constructive feedback on the case!” he protests.

He gasps again when Priest suddenly grabs him and pushes him up against one side of the elevator, his breaths stuttering as he stares into Priest’s eyes, the intense look in them choking up anything Dirk might even think to say.

“Or maybe I need to remind you how I used to shut you up,” Priest breathes quietly, and Dirk doesn’t have time to blink before Priest is _kissing_ him, _on the lips_ , and every single cell in his brain goes up in smoke.

It’s been a long time since he’s kissed anyone, with cases and getting hunted down and generally being in ridiculous situations non-stop recently, and Dirk’s forgotten how _good_ it could feel, to have someone’s taste mingle with his own, to have their breaths combining with his until no one’s quite sure who’s breathing in whose air. It’s been a long time since _Priest_ has kissed him, and Dirk melts instantly, eyes falling closed as he kisses back eagerly.

They don’t part until the elevator dings again, and Dirk hears someone’s scandalized gasp from the opened doors and he quickly pushes Priest away.

“Sorry?” he says sheepishly as he rushes past the old lady that’s staring wide-eyed at them just outside the elevator.

“Kids these days,” he hears her mutter to herself, sounding confounded, and Dirk groans internally as he heads towards the hotel’s front entrance with purpose.

Priest catches up to him as he steps out onto the pavement outside the hotel, and Dirk starts striding down one direction, not quite sure if that’s the right way, but still a little flustered from the kiss to really think about it too much. He’s got a faint feeling that he’s doing something right, though, so it’s not really an issue.

A few paces later, though, he bumps into someone face first, distracted by nothing, and whoever it is spills the coffee he’d been carrying all over himself.

“Aw, fuck,” the man curses, and Dirk freezes, staring at him wide-eyed. He looks like a hobo, and he’s quite built, so Dirk instinctively cowers.

“I am _so_ sorry,” he apologizes sincerely, cringing as he watches the man try to wipe at the huge coffee stain on the front of his white t-shirt.

“Nah, man, it’s fine,” the man waves him away, glancing up at Dirk with a sheepish smile. “It’s New York, should’ve looked where I was going.”

“Me, too,” Dirk says, “I’m usually better at weaving through large crowds of people rushing about.”

The man’s smile morphs into a grin. “British, huh?” he says in a friendly tone. “Welcome to the US.”

“I’ve been here quite a while, though,” Dirk corrects him. “Bit late for a welcoming committee, but thank you.”

The man looks like he’s about to say something else, but his eyes widen disbelievingly behind Dirk and his jaw drops open.

“ _Mr. Priest_?” he gapes and Dirk rolls his eyes heavenward, sighing.

“Lucas,” he hears Priest say behind him with a giggle, just as the man comes to stand next to him. “You look healthy.”

The man, Lucas, shakes his head like he’s trying to clear it, and much to Dirk’s surprise, he grins. “Yeah, I’ve been good,” he says, reaching the hand that’s not holding his empty coffee cup out to give Priest a handshake. “Oh man, how long has it been? You still with Blackwing?”

“Technically retired,” Priest tells him. “We were just talkin’ about you. Svlad here is Project Icarus.”

Lucas gapes again, looking back at Dirk, visibly impressed. “No shit?” he says.

Dirks shrugs, smiling wryly. “ _Dirk_ Gently,” he says, shooting Priest a look. “Holistic Detective.”

Lucas runs his hand through his hair, still looking impressed and slightly overwhelmed. “Man, I can’t believe it. Running into you guys, _here_?” he says, almost to himself. Then he gets a serious look on his face, and he asks, “Wait, is something big happening in New York? Shit, the Universe has been going _crazy_ , recently. I’m barely getting any sleep!”

Priest giggles again. “You could say that,” he says. “Haven’t gotten to you yet, but got a feelin’ we will, soon.”

Lucas nods, almost distractedly. “Yeah, yeah, sure,” he says. “I mean, if you guys need any help or anything, call me.” He digs through his jeans, and pulls out a card. “My number’s on there, but if you can’t get me, you can email; got a friend that can get a hold of me if there’s any emergencies.”

Dirk takes the card from him, studying it. It’s plain, and white, with black lettering that simply says, ‘Lucas Hood, PI’ followed by a single phone number and an email address.

“Thanks, Lucas,” he hears Priest saying. “We’ll be in touch.”

“Gotta go now, I’m supposed to meet somebody,” Lucas says, and Dirk looks up to see him smiling as he waves at them. “Good luck with your case!” and then he’s walking past them, disappearing into the masses of people on the pavement.

Dirk raises a brow at Priest, slipping the card into his jacket pocket. “I never mentioned the case,” he says.

“Nope,” Priest replies with a grin and Dirk bemusedly asks, “Is that how that feels like?”

“So I’ve been told,” Priest agrees as he continues down the pavement.

“Wait, so was he the other Project you mentioned?” Dirk asks him, rushing to catch up to him. “That was a surprisingly pleasant encounter, I feel like we should be more concerned.”

“Like I said,” Priest tells him as they walk, “He’s not aggressive unless you give him a reason to be.”

“Yes, but he seemed _nice_ and he actually looked like he _likes_ you,” Dirk says accusingly. “What did you _do_? Or is he actually harboring some dark, psychotic alter ego that he’s hiding behind that guy-next-door facade?”

Priest shrugs, giggling. “Lucas had a rough childhood,” Priest explains to Dirk. “Orphan, grew up on the streets, got involved in minor crimes. But he’s got an innate sense of justice and his powers make him superhumanly strong and fast.”

Dirk’s brows scrunch up as he listens, and he shakes his head when Priest stops talking. “That still doesn’t explain why he _likes_ you,” Dirk says with a frown.

“Blackwing recruited him when he was 20,” Priest tells Dirk. “Voluntary experimentation in exchange for not goin’ to prison as a legal adult for a B&E. But he failed all the tests, so Blackwing offered him a position as an Agent instead, since he excelled at all his physicals. I trained him personally until he decided that he didn’t like takin’ orders.”

Dirk’s mouth drops open in disbelief, staring at the side of Priest’s face. “Blackwing can _do_ that?” he asks. “They just _let go_ of a Project?”

“They didn’t take _you_ back in after you escaped, did they?” Priest replies casually. “Even though Scott had you under observation the whole time.”

“Well, yes, but,” Dirk starts, pausing when he can’t think of a logical reason why that is. “He _did_ try to get me back,” he says instead, frowning again.

“ _Voluntarily_ ,” Priest reminds him. “Blackwing didn’t used to be as bad as you make it out to be, Svlad, we both know that. Can’t say the same for Ken, though.”

Dirk scoffs, still unable to believe what he’s hearing. “The tests sucked even before him,” he says sulkily.

“They didn’t know what they were doin’,” Priest says, shrugging. “And you were a stubborn little shit.”

Dirk’s about to say something to that, because he had most definitely _not_ been, but he stops in his tracks, suddenly, a random thought floating up to the forefront of his mind, and he turns to look to the side. They’re standing next to an empty alley, and there’s nothing there, but Dirk gets the urge to go there, anyway.

“What is it?” Priest asks as Dirk turns around fully to face the mouth of the alley.

“Something’s there,” Dirk says vaguely, weaving through other people on the sidewalk, towards the alley.

He’s halfway down it when he pauses, the feeling fading away, and he frowns as he looks around the narrow space. It goes further, a fork at the end of it a few yards away from where he’s standing, but he waits until Priest has caught up to him before he nods down the alley.

“Let’s look over here,” he says, moving.

“This place is _clean_ ,” Priest observes. “I don’t think anyone’s been here for years.”

“It’s an alley, that doesn’t make any sense,” Dirk replies.

“No, but what do you think we’re gonna find in a deserted alley in Manhattan? Besides a dead body, maybe.”

Dirk gasps at that, shooting Priest a glare. “Don’t you _dare_ imply it’s Norton’s dead body!” he hisses.

Priest shrugs, saying, “Maybe not his. But a hobo, or a junkie. It’s New York, Dirk.”

“It’s _Manhattan_.”

“ _Exactly_.”

“Oh, shut up. I’m telling you, something’s _here_!”

“It’s _empty_ , Svlad.”

“Why is it so difficult or you to comprehend the simple, fundamental fact that I _know_ what I’m doing? I don’t tell _you_ who not to point a gun at, do I?”

“Yes, you do.”

“Well, only if you’re doing it at innocent people!”

“You don’t _know_ they’re innocent or not.”

And then something barges into them, large and heavy and warm, and Dirk stumbles backwards with a shriek, except whatever it is is _blonde_ and _hugging_ him and Dirk blinks rapidly to realize that it’s-

“ _Norton_!”

\---

Norton and Todd haven’t moved a muscle, but Norton feels something in the air, pushing down on them like a hand squeezing gently, and when he opens his eyes, they’re standing in the middle of a deserted alley, next to a dumpster. The mannequin is with them, but so is an unfamiliar, dark-skinned woman with pixie-cut, ash-grey hair.

“Hello,” she says, and both Todd and Norton let go of the mannequin like it’s infectious.

They both ask in unison, “What happened?” and “How did you _do_ that?”

The woman, Frae, shrugs. “I’m a Holistic Messenger,” she says simply. Her eyes are light brown, almost amber, and she looks at Norton as she adds, “The Universe told me to bring Norton Folgate to New York.”

Norton notices a black tattoo ringing her neck, then, and he takes a cautious step back from her, grabbing Todd along with him.

“You’re working with Eli,” he says warily. “Why did you help us?”

Frae doesn’t even flinch. “I am,” she affirms. “We both work for the same organisation. But the Universe told me to help you, so here I am.”

“Wait, how did you know that?” Todd asks Norton, glancing between him and Frae. “Are you a Blackwing Project, too? Is it like a holistic connection? Is _that_ why you look like Dirk?”

Norton rolls his eyes, gesturing at his own neck. “They’ve got the same tattoo, Todd,” he says pointedly. “You don’t need to be psychic to _see_.”

Todd frowns as his tone, but Norton ignores him. “What now, then?” he asks Frae.

Frae shrugs. “The Universe didn’t say anything else,” she says. “I’m going back to Wisconsin until then.” She waves at them. “So, goodbye.”

She turns and starts walking off down the alley, and Todd shouts after her, “Hey, wait! What’re we supposed to do then?”

Frae doesn’t answer him, and Todd moves to go after her, but Norton holds him back.

“Leave it,” he tells him when Todd looks up at him. “She might change her mind and bring us back with her,” Norton points out. “Best not to annoy a double agent.”

Todd looks perturbed, glancing back at Frae, but nods in agreement. “Right,” he says. “Okay, so, you got any ideas?”

“We were heading for New York before I ended up in that place with you,” Norton says, looking around. The alley seems relatively clean despite what he’s heard of the famous city’s questionable hygiene. “Hopefully, we’ll bump into Priest and Dirk somewhere.”

Todd huffs out a laugh. “In _New York_?” he says. “You’ve obviously never been here before.”

Norton frowns, asking, “Why?”

“We have no money, no clothes, and you’re not even wearing any _shoes_ ,” Todd says, running his hands through his hair, looking stressed out. “We’d be lucky if we even _survive_ here long enough to find them.”

Norton looks down at his feet, remembering with dismay that he _is_ barefoot. “ _Bugger_ ,” he says.

Todd laughs sardonically, just as the sound of footsteps and voices reach them, coming from round a corner of the alley where they are. Norton pulls Todd against the wall, flattening himself against it as well, and presses a finger to his lips at him. Todd nods, looking worried, but following suit.

Norton hopes whoever’s approaching will walk right past them as the sounds get louder. He’s all too aware that he’s in no condition to be getting into any fights.

That is, until he realizes that the voices sound very familiar.

“-telling you, something’s _here_!”

“It’s _empty_ , Svlad.”

“Why is it so difficult or you to comprehend the simple, fundamental fact that I _know_ what I’m doing? I don’t tell _you_ who not to point a gun at, do I?”

“Yes, you do.”

“Well, only if you’re doing it at innocent people!”

“You don’t _know_ they’re innocent or not.”

Norton feels unfathomably happy as he rushes towards the corner, forgetting Todd in his excitement, not even caring that he’s stepping over dirty, wet puddles as he runs. He _knows_ those voices. He’s _missed_ them terribly.

Dirk still has the bruise on his forehead, and Priest looks like, well, _Priest_ as they wander down the alley, looking around at nothing, and Norton doesn’t give either of them any warnings as he throws himself between them, one arm around each of them. It elicits a shriek from Dirk, which Norton had never known would sound so good to his hears.

“ _Norton_?” Dirk gasps after a moment, and Norton honest-to-god sobs in relief as he feels Dirk wrap an arm around his shoulder to return the embrace. “I _told_ you there was _something_ here!”

“Tell me I’m not dreaming,” Norton sniffs, squeezing them both.

“Dirk!” he hears Todd shout behind him, and they’re all jostled as Todd throws his arms around Dirk’s other side, hugging tight. “It’s really you!”

“ _Todd_!”

Norton feels Priest peeling his arm off from him, and he feels disappointed, but then Priest is pulling him away from Dirk and holding him by the shoulders, looking him over intensely, and Norton feels his own eyes tearing up.

“Why’re you in a dress?” Priest asks, frowning, and Norton instinctively snaps, “Oh, shut up,” his voice thick and shaky.

“Ten minutes,” Priest says, his hold on Norton’s shoulders tightening briefly. “That’s the last time I let you go off on your own.”

Norton shrugs Priest’s hands off his shoulders and throws his arms around Priest’s neck, burying his face in his chest as he says, “Timetravelling really fucks up your sense of time, didn’t you know?”

\---

“We tried to find you,” Dirk says guiltily later, as they make their way back to the hotel he and Priest had checked into.

Dirk’s walking on Priest’s left, Todd on his other side, and Priest is carrying Norton on his back since he’s not wearing any shoes. They’re on a crowded sidewalk, but not a single person spares them even a glance, despite the odd picture they’re probably painting. It’s a blessing and a relief; Norton’s not sure he wouldn’t be tempted to pick a fight with someone who’d give them one wrong look, he’s just so very glad to be back in Dirk and Priest’s company.

“But we couldn’t find anything, and the Universe just kept insisting we go to New York, and we couldn’t keep searching the woods when the authorities turned up there.”

“It’s really been two days?” Norton asks, leaning his head against Priest’s shoulder, thinking back on what Eli had possibly done to him while he was unconscious for so long. The possibilities are endless, and he tightens his arms around Priest’s shoulders, feeling violated again.

“It has,” Priest says, squeezing his hands around Norton’s thighs comfortingly in response.

“I was there longer,” Todd adds, shuddering. “I had two attacks while I was with Eli. I should call Amanda and check on them, too.”

“We’ve got a phone at the hotel,” Dirk tells him. “She’s completely fine, I just called her yesterday. And I’m sure she knows you’re alright, anyway. She’s on speaking terms with the Universe.” Dirk stops before adding with indignant confusion, “She never told me she’d lost you!”

“She’s been getting more visions since we got to Colorado,” Todd says, sighing. “She kept saying you had your own thing you needed to do, and that we’d meet up in three weeks, anyway.”

“How did you two manage to get here, anyway?” Dirk asks. “Norton’s not even wearing any shoes!”

“Norton?” Todd repeats, frowning with confusion. “ _Norton Folgate_? I knew your name wasn’t really _Gerald_!” he says accusingly at Norton.

Norton huffs, scowling. “I wasn’t about to tell the crazy pervert my _real_ name,” he says defensively.

Todd shudders, while Norton notices Priest clenching his jaw tightly. “Pervert?” he says flatly.

“It’s nothing,” Norton tells him quickly, shooting Todd a warning look when he looks over at them, mouth opening to say something. He gives Norton that same frown from before, the one that clearly says how much he doesn’t approve of whatever Norton thinks he’s doing.

Priest grunts, squeezing Norton’s thighs briefly again, and Norton knows he’s not going to let it go.

“Were there any Blackwing Projects named Frae?” Norton asks, changing the subject. “She called herself a Holistic Messenger.”

“Frae Lloyd, Project Charon,” Priest says. “You met her?”

“She’s the one that got us out of there,” Todd says. “She said the Universe wanted her to bring ‘Norton Folgate’ to New York.” He makes air quotes with his fingers as he says Norton’s name, imitating Frae’s voice so convincingly that Norton’s impressed.

“ _Interesting_ ,” Dirk says, humming thoughtfully. “What are the odds that we’ve met _two_ Blackwing Projects that know Norton and I by name because the _Universe_ told them?”

“And one that’s trying to kidnap you,” Norton adds, sighing. “I’d wager there was also someone called Eli?”

Priest makes a sound of affirmation. “Eli Lutkas, he’s the Project that was in the woods,” he tells them. “Project Golem. He the one that took you two?”

“Yes,” Norton says, frowning. “Special sort of snowflake, isn’t he?”

Priest giggles. “To put it lightly,” he says. “Blackwing diagnosed him as a high-functioning psychopath. Scott tried to get him institutionalized, but he was one of the few Projects with conclusive results. He still escaped a year after I left Blackwing, though.”

“Here we are!” Dirk declares, stopping in front of a huge building.

Norton cranes his neck to look up at it; it looks grand, and extravagant, and he almost feels bad for the poor bastard whose credit card Dirk had used.

“Don’t tell me you used the company card for this,” Norton hears Todd hiss to Dirk. “Farah’s going to _kill_ you.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Todd,” Dirk scoffs back at him. “Mr. Daniel Porter is sponsoring us. Now, c’mon, you look like you’re about to join the floor down here. Plus, the room service is _superb_.”

They’d gotten the _penthouse_ , at the top floor, much to Norton’s awe, and there’s a dedicated elevator that goes right up to their room.

He’s jumping off of Priest and running into it the second the elevator doors open, bypassing everything to lean against the floor-to-ceiling windows on the other end of the room. He can see _everything_ in the whole city, they’re practically the highest building in the area, and the view is positively breathtaking, miles and miles of tiny buildings and cars in the distance. He can even see the several bridges that cross a river along the city’s coast.

“It’s like a dream,” he says to himself, soaking up the view.

“This place is _huge_ ,” he hears Todd say behind him.

“You should see the _jacuzzi_ ,” Dirk gushes, and Norton hears the two of them scrambling loudly up what he thinks might be stairs, though he hasn’t seen them.

When Norton turns around, Priest is the only one in the room with him, shrugging his vest off and tossing it over the sofa in the middle of the room.

“Do I have to ask first, or are you gonna talk?” Priest asks, crossing his arms over his chest as he looks at Norton pointedly.

Norton purses his lips, shrugging. “Is changing into actual clothes an option?” he asks back. “Or are you enjoying the view, as well?”

“It’s not half-bad,” Priest retorts, and Norton feels a sinking feeling in his gut, an apprehension that he’s not quite sure how to explain himself. But then Priest adds, “But I’d prefer it if you didn’t look like you were gonna kill me if I tried puttin’ my hand up your skirt,” which relieves him for some reason.

It comforts him enough that the smirk on his face is genuine as he teases, “Maybe if it were my own dress,” and pinches the dress by his hips, courtesying daintily as he adds, “ _sir_.”

Priest shakes his head, lips quirking up in a small smile before he points somewhere to the left of the room, past the kitchenette.

“Master bedroom’s over there,” he says. “We bought more clothes, and real pants like you insisted.”

The mention of actual pants perks him up instantly, and Norton grins, bright and pleased. “Have I mentioned that I love you?” he asks flippantly as he rushes towards the room Priest had indicated. “A man after my heart, you are!”

He hears Priest scoff, but he’s already flinging the bedroom door open, squealing with joy at the sight of a large bed with plush looking pillows and sheets, and a selection of clothes hanging in the open closet to the side.

\---

Two hours later, they’re all sitting at the kitchen counter, eating what Norton thinks must be every single food item on the room service menu. There’s food on every inch of the counter’s surface, and even though Norton’s stomach still feels queasy from his experience with Eli, he still manages to finish a whole bowl of mash and gravy.

It still feels like too much, but he’s in a fresh shirt, _real_ pants, and he’d just watched the dress burn in the fireplace in the living area, so he’s feeling quite content by the time Priest brings up Eli again.

“Where did Eli take you two?” he asks from the kitchen sink, washing his hands.

Dirk’s chewing on a string of cheese from the gourmet pizza he’d been fighting Todd over - and apparently won - making a strangled sound before biting the cheese off and swallowing loudly.

“ _How_ did he get you?” he adds.

Norton shrugs, and Todd scratches at his head. “We don’t actually know where the place was,” he admits. “There weren’t any windows, and we were never outside it.”

“As for how,” Norton cuts in, “My guess is Frae. She seems to be able to teleport people through things, and I got there the same way she got us out.”

“That’s her power,” Priest confirms, coming back to the counter and taking his seat next to Norton. “She can make ‘tokens’ that she can activate remotely to transport things to her. It only works one way, and she’s limited to a range of, maybe, 5,000 miles? Blackwing never got to test her further than that before funding was cut.”

Dirk drops his half-eaten pizza slice onto his plate, looking thoughtful. “Eli took Norton from just outside Oregon,” he muses aloud, “And Todd from Colorado. So their villainy lair could be anywhere within 5,000 miles of those two states!”

“Villainy lair?” Priest echoes, amused.

“She did mention Wisconsin?” Todd says, uncertain. “Maybe it’s somewhere there. It’s still in range.”

“What’s in Wisconsin?” Dirk muses, at the same time Norton says, “They’re both working for the same organisation.”

“What organisation?” Priest asks, sounding like he knows something they don’t.

Norton shrugs before gesturing at his neck as he explains, “They both had tattoos on their necks, like black collars. And she admitted to it, so it’s not just a fancy trend.”

“Black collars and Wisconsin,” Priest repeats, thinking. “Sounds familiar, but can’t say for sure from where.”

“Well, whoever they’re working for, I wager they’re the ones looking for Dirk,” Norton says, looking over at Dirk with concern. “They never said why, and I’m more worried about that.”

Dirk looks fearful, then, but he swallows and tries to look brave. “Whatever it is, it can’t be that bad, right?” he says.

Norton thinks of Eli’s fascination of him, of how Priest had said even Blackwing had called the man a psychopath. He can’t imagine how much worse the people he’s working for could be, and he makes a face as he tells Dirk, “I’m not confident enough to risk them possibly succeeding, love.”

Dirk gulps, looking chastised, and Todd pats his back comfortingly, a sympathetic look on his face.

“We’ve been chased around before,” he reminds Dirk. “No one’s gotten you yet, right? You’ll be fine. You got us.”

Dirk smiles weakly at him, leaning closer to Todd, and Norton stomps down on the spike of irrational jealousy that blooms in his chest at the sight.

“I’m also concerned about the fact that Eli’s got Priest’s doppelgänger running around to do his bidding,” he says, changing the subject and turning to look at Priest. “Care to explain?”

Priest raises a brow, shrugging. “Not a clue,” he says. “It’s possible he made a doll based off my appearance. He can possess any _thing_. Living things can’t withstand the pressure of his possessions for too long.”

Norton shudders, thinking back on how lifeless the Priest-thing had been. “It _looked_ real,” he says quietly, at the same time thinking, _it_ felt _real_.

Norton’s surprised when Dirk reaches under the counter and grips his hand, squeezing comfortingly. He looks up to meet his eyes, returning the smile that’s on Dirk’s face.

“You’re back here, now,” Dirk says softly, fingers threading through Norton’s. “I plan to keep it that way.” Dirk makes a face, then, glancing at Priest with a scowl. “I mean, he was _awful_ without you around. I was sure he was going to shoot me at some point!”

“You had my guns with you most of the time we’ve been in New York,” Priest points out, amused again. “And I told you; I ain’t killin’ any Projects as long as the Universe still needs ‘em.”

“Still,” Dirk sniffs, letting go of Norton’s hand to cross his arms over his chest. “You were in a mood the whole drive here, and you almost shot that officer back in Oregon.”

“He was tryin’ to arrest us,” Priest defends.

“He was just doing his job!”

“And tryin’ to arrest us in the process.”

“Maybe if you hadn’t told him to ‘mind his own fuckin’ business’, he might’ve been significantly more inclined to be sympathetic to our situation.”

“Maybe if he hadn’t been tryin’ to arrest us, I would’ve been significantly less inclined to want to shoot him.”

“Are they always like this?” Todd suddenly whispers at Norton, covering the side of his mouth as he leans toward him, warily eyeing Dirk and Priest arguing.

Norton leans close to him and whispers back, “It seems to be a recent development.”

Todd gets a perplexed look on his face, then, and Norton inches his seat away from Priest and closer to Todd’s side.

“Dirk used to be terrified at the _mention_ of this guy’s name,” Todd whispers to Norton.

“Well, he _used_ to be more terrifying,” Norton tells him. “I think he’s just been a grumpy old man without Dirk to entertain him.”

“It’s surreal,” Todd says, still watching Dirk and Priest. “Dirk looks different now, too.”

Norton raises a brow at that, saying, “Perhaps you’ve just gotten used to my appearance. You haven’t seen Dirk in close to a month now, yes?”

Todd shakes his head, frowning lightly. “No, no, it’s not that,” he insists, glancing at Norton. “He’s just- I don’t know, there’s _something_ about him. About _both_ of them, I guess.”

Norton looks over at Dirk and Priest, watching the two of them snipping at each other, back and forth, not stopping or pausing a single moment. They don’t even seem to be breathing, but they don’t look as angry as they sound, either. In fact, Norton swears he can see Priest smirking, and Dirk looks like he’s having _fun_ , more than anything else.

Norton thinks about the first time he’d met Dirk, the first time he’d seen the two of them speaking to each other, and it _is_ very different than what he’s seeing right now. He’s gotten used to the two of them, to the awkward silences and the unspoken authority that Priest has over Dirk, and knowing how Priest had felt about Dirk before - _still_ feels about Dirk now - and trying hard to keep that from becoming a problem.

But the two of them seem so comfortable with each other now, and Norton feels bereft at the realization. He’d guessed that something had happened between them, back in Oregon, back with the Hive and whatever Dirk had done to solve his case and help Cerce avert the crisis that was supposed to happen there while Norton had been out for the count. But watching the two of them now, arguing like an old married couple; Norton’s sure that they’ve patched up old wounds. That perhaps, they’ve come to a truce with the stupid universe.

Norton thinks they might be fucking if given the chance, and the thought leaves him feeling happy and disappointed at the same time.

It’s a confusing set of conflicting emotions, and Norton’s sure it’s not something he’s ready to deal with.

 _Not yet, don’t let it end yet_.

“Alright, that’s enough now, children,” Norton says aloud, standing up and clapping his hands at Dirk and Priest.

They both freeze, Dirk’s mouth open in mid-sentence, and turn to glare at him.

“We’ve got a _guest_ ,” Norton says, placing his hands on his hips and shooting them both a stern look. “ _Behave_ , both of you.”

Priest rolls his eyes, somehow managing to exude annoyance without saying a word, while Dirk just looks guiltily over at Todd.

“Now,” Norton starts, nodding to himself. “Dirk, please be so kind as to show Todd to the guest bedroom and offer him a change of clothes. I assume you’ve got some for him as well?”

Dirk nods furiously and Norton smiles. “Good, and have you given him that phone you promised?” Norton frowns when Dirk shakes his head, looking guilty again. “Well, hop to it, then, sweetheart. Have you _met_ Amanda? I don’t fancy getting an earful from her if she finds out we’ve rescued her brother and never bothered to tell her for _hours_.”

“Yes, sir,” Dirk says, saluting, grinning when Norton shoots him an unimpressed stare. “C’mon, then, Todd, my new assistant’s _very_ demanding,” he says as he jumps off his seat and goes over to Todd.

Todd stands, but he looks incredibly insulted for some reason. “You got a _new_ assistant?” he demands, following as Dirk walks past him. “I thought _I_ was your assistant! I can’t believe you _replaced_ me!”

“Well, you haven’t been around to be assisting me, have you? And to be _fair_ , I did assume you were a little _dead_.”

“Why would you think I was _dead_?!”

“Because Mr. Priest said so, duh. Weren’t you always saying how you didn’t want to be _just_ an assistant, anyway? Well, I’ve gotten a replacement, so you can have a promotion! Congratulations, Todd, you’re a _real_ detective now! Just like me!”

“I didn’t mean if I’d _died_ , Dirk!”

Norton smiles to himself as he listens to their voices fading away, not really understanding what they’re talking about. But Dirk sounds so _content_ and _self-assured_ , and Norton finds that he likes that. Very much.

“Goin’ for a smoke,” Priest says suddenly, and Norton turns to see him walking towards the glass doors that lead to the balcony. He pauses there, and turns to look at Norton. “We should talk, before Svlad comes back.”

Norton’s face must say everything he thinks about that suggestion, because Priest shrugs, adding, “I’m fine if you want Svlad there for this, too.”

And no. Norton thinks about Dirk’s good mood, his delight at being reunited with his best friend, and no, he definitely does not want to ruin that.

“Give me a mom’,” he mutters, rubbing at his temples, feeling a headache coming on.

“Why didn’t Eli try to possess you?” is the first thing Priest asks when Norton steps outside to the balcony.

Norton slides the door closed behind him, making sure that Dirk’s nowhere in sight, and turns back around to join Priest near the railing at the edge of the balcony. The night air is cool, but not cold enough to warrant a coat. Priest looks like a statue with the backdrop of the night sky behind him, silhouetted by the lights of the city as he leans against the railing.

“He did,” Norton tells him after a moment, almost forgetting that Priest had asked him a question, so distracted by how beautiful Priest looks like this. “It didn’t work.” Norton thinks back to the incident, remembering the pain and the vomiting, rubbing at his wrists uneasily. “I suspect the artefact saved my life. It seems it doesn’t like to share its hosts.”

Priest nods, taking a drag of his cigarette. “What happened?” he asks seriously, his eyes dark as he looks over at Norton.

Norton breaks the eye contact; Priest’s eyes look like the Priest-thing’s in this lighting and even though he’s got the scar on his face, it’s still an unnerving resemblance.

“I think he liked that,” Norton confesses, hugging his arms around himself. “He said he’s never met anyone he couldn’t possess.” Smiling wryly, Norton says, “It fascinated him, maybe turned him on, even. He wouldn’t be the first bastard that fancies the idea of forcing me to submit.”

“Get that a lot, do you?” Priest asks flatly. “Is that why you were wearin’ that dress?”

The way he asks that pisses Norton off something fierce - patronizing and flippant - and he grits his teeth, forcing himself to look at Priest just to glare heatedly at him. “Not all of us has the luxury of being a big, bad, holistic hunter,” he bites out. “Or a holistic guide with the universe as their bodyguard. I’ve learned to live with what I have, so judge me all you want, but I’ve _survived_.”

Priest looks at him, expression blank as a slate. His cigarette burns away in his hand, the smoke rising up between them like a ghostly wall.

“I’m sorry,” Priest says suddenly, and Norton gapes at him, shocked. He doesn’t know what he’d been expecting, but an apology is definitely not it.

“I wasn’t judgin’ you,” Priest continues, tossing the cigarette over the balcony and running his hands over his face, exhaling slowly. “I’m angry.”

Norton purses his lips, scowling. “Well, bully for you, then,” he snaps, out of lack of anything else to say.

“Shut up,” Priest says, looking back at him. “Just. Stop talkin’ for one damned second. I’m tryin’ to be a ‘decent human being’ here. It’s a pretty foreign concept to me, in case you haven’t noticed.”

Norton does shut up, if only out of further shock. Priest pushes off the railing and walks closer to him, and Norton has to fight down the instinct to back away, to put some distance between himself and this man that could very easily overpower him without breaking a sweat. Something of the thought must show on his face, because Priest stops halfway to him, looking frustrated.

“I’m not gonna hurt you,” he says slowly, biting out every syllable like they’re toxic on his tongue. “Fuck the Universe, I’m killin’ that bastard when I get my hands on him.”

“That doesn’t change what happened,” Norton tells him thinly. He’s never seen Priest like this, and it’s painful. He doesn’t know what to do, how to handle the situation in his favour. “You can’t kill every problem away, Priest.”

Priest licks at his lips before pursing them, looking like he wishes very hard that what Norton’s just said isn’t true.

“Osmund,” he says suddenly, eyes falling shut. “My name is Osmund Priest.”

Norton stares at him, eyes widening, now very much lost. But Priest isn’t done.

“I was born in 1974, my parents died in a car accident when I was ten,” he says, eyes still closed, hands clenching into fists by his sides. “I got shipped off to Washington to stay with an uncle who was workin’ for the military. He was the one that figured out I was _gifted_ , and he had me trained, day in and day out, testing me to see how far I could go, how much I could do. He thought he could get me enlisted early, follow in his footsteps and all, but I failed a psych eval at 14, and he decided to put me in Blackwing instead. As a _Project_.”

He opens his eyes, staring at Norton. “I caused the accident,” he says quietly. “I got my parents killed. They were drug dealers, sellin’ bad meth on the streets. Black sheep of the family. They got ten kids dead before the Universe finally told me I could pull the handbrake in the snow, let the car skid and crash into a truck on the other side. Told me I could cover my head and stay down until the car stopped movin’, until my parents stopped screamin’, and I’d come out just fine.”

Norton can’t stop the horror rising in his chest as Priest speaks, can’t stop staring back at him with fear and alarm, wondering, wondering, wanting to ask a million and one questions, but afraid that any of the answers Priest will give might possibly make him sick.

“Universe gave me a choice, and I don’t regret makin’ it,” Priest says defiantly, scoffing. “I don’t feel bad about it, I don’t _feel_ anythin’.”

He steps closer again, and Norton doesn’t even have the time to _think_ of running anywhere before Priest has him caught by the arm, holding him fast as he looks down at him.

“Svlad,” Priest says quietly. “You and Svlad, you make me _feel_ things, and that makes me angry. How the _fuck_ am I supposed to do what I do if you keep makin’ me _feel_ things about them?”

Then Priest leans down, crashing their lips together, and Norton melts into the kiss almost immediately, reaching up to grab a hold of Priest’s shoulders. Priest’s lips are soft, just as soft as the last time they’d kissed, and Norton’s brain short-circuits when a tongue licks along his lips, seeking entrance, and he lets his mouth fall open, lets it meet against his own inside.

Priest tastes like cigarettes and mint - remnants of the hotel’s toothpaste when he’d brushed his teeth earlier - and there’s something underneath that’s purely _Priest_ , and it’s a heady and strong and overwhelming combination, and Norton can’t think beyond the desire to have moremoremore of it, to taste as much as he can, while he still has the chance.

He acutely feels Priest’s arms wrapping around his waist, pulling him closer until their fronts are flush against each other, as close as they can get, and his hands are rubbing up Norton’s back, tracing down his spine over his shirt until they’re resting on the swell of his ass, just over the waistband of his trousers. Norton grips Priest’s shoulders tighter, kissing him harder, desperate for more.

But then Priest pulls away, and Norton whines needily, standing up on his tiptoes to chase after Priest’s lips. Priest leans back forward, kissing him again, but briefly, and then he pulls Norton close and buries his face into the crook of Norton’s neck, breathing heavily against his skin.

“I’ll kill anyone that touches you or Svlad,” Priest swears into his neck. “Universe made you mine and I don’t share, either.”

Norton’s dazed from the kiss, from Priest’s warmth enveloping him so completely, and all he manages in response is a strained whimper. He realizes vaguely that he’s trembling from head to toe, and that he’s half-hard in his pants, and there’s a warmth on his face that he can’t seem to cool off. He doesn’t even really realize it when Priest lifts him up into his arms and carries him inside, hearing Dirk’s voice at the door like he’s listening to something in a dream.

“Is he alright?” Accusing and worried. Sweet.

“He’s fine. Just tired. Help me get him to bed.” Guilty.

“Fine, but I’m sleeping in the middle.” Sulking.

“Universe?” Amused.

“You _both_ need me tonight.” Smug.

“Don’t go gettin’ a big head.” Proud.

“You love me for it, though.” Happy.

Norton wonders when he’d started getting so familiar with their voices that he can tell exactly how they’re feeling just from the way they’re talking, but it’s a distant thought, just like how he tiredly registers someone taking his clothes off and slipping other clothes onto him as he lies prone on a bed. Warm, gentle hands turn him over onto his side, and Norton feels someone’s lips against his forehead before he’s held tightly in their arms.

“Good night, Norton,” he hears Dirk say.

And then nothing. Just peace.

\---

“Why is it still _in_ you?” Friedkin asks, sounding frustrated, and Norton blinks rapidly at him, disoriented.

He’s back in that weird place again.

“Wh-what?” he stutters before pulling himself together and glaring at the not-human man standing in front of him. “I _was_ sleeping, you know.”

“You’re supposed to get rid of it by now,” Friedkin continues, not seeming to hear him. “Like, we’re running out of time!”

“Well, you can thank your psycho friend with the control issues,” Norton snaps at him, annoyed that he’s being ignored. “I don’t know what your universe is telling you, but one of its kids kidnapped me and held me hostage for _two days_.”

Friedkin frowns at him, looking confused. “Everyone’s supposed to like, help Dirk,” he says seriously.

“I think some of them missed the memo,” Norton says in a deadpan. “Eli Lutkas. Sound familiar?”

Friedkin’s eyes widen and his mouth opens in an ‘oh’ of realization. “That guy’s like, ignoring the Universe,” he says, frowning. “He’s stubborn.”

“Yes, stubborn,” Norton echoes. “Not the word I’d use, but why not go with that?”

“Fine, whatever,” Friedkin says, sighing and deflating visibly. “Just, uh, get to the Informant faster? We already told him to look for you, so he might contact you any time now.”

Norton shrugs carelessly. “As long as he doesn’t try anything funny.”

Friedkin is ignoring him again, scratching at his head and muttering to himself, too quiet for Norton to make out any words. And then he brightens up considerably.

“I gotta go,” he says. “Wake up and hurry up, okay?”

Norton shoots him a scandalized look, indignantly saying, “ _You’re_ the one that brought me here!”

Friedkin waves him away, saying, “Yeah, yeah, sorry. Bye now!”

\---

Norton jolts awake like he’d been thrown off a plane, his heart hammering through his chest. His eyes are wide open, but his vision is obstructed by something yellow and he swipes at his own face, realizing that it’s a square little sticky note stuck to his forehead.

 _WENT OUT TO BUY BREAKFAST, BE BACK IN A BIT! :D_ , is scrawled on it in what looks like an 8-year-old’s handwriting, and there are three crooked hearts drawn on one corner.

Norton smiles fondly at it before sighing and falling back onto the pillows. He considers going back to sleep, but the dream or whatever it was that he’d had with Friedkin is fresh on his mind. He’s got no idea why the man had been in such a rush, but Norton figures delaying the inevitable wouldn’t help anyone.

He’s showered and dressed in half an hour, heading out into the living area, wondering where the phone Dirk had mentioned was. He figures he might as well use it to get whatever information he can about the Holistic Informant that he’s apparently supposed to meet.

He finds Todd sitting at the counter instead, looking dazed as he sips on a mug of coffee. He looks confused to see Norton, but Norton’s starting to understand that that seems to be his default expression. He finds it very amusing as he boils some water and starts looking for any tea bags in the cupboards under the stove.

“Morning,” Todd grunts at him, and Norton can feel him watching him.

“Good morning, sunshine,” Norton replies, pulling out a jar of tea bags he finds behind boxes of sugar packets. “Had a good sleep?” he asks as he sets about making tea for himself.

“Fine, I guess,” Todd replies, and he sounds like he wants to say more, but is holding himself back.

Norton checks the fridge and finds no milk, disappointingly, and so he settles for taking his tea black. He brings his own mug to the counter, standing across from Todd, and looks at him expectantly.

“Well, don’t be polite on my account,” he says dryly. “What’s on your mind?”

Todd stares at him, a hesitant expression on his face. He inhales deeply before he shrugs and says, “You slept with them.”

Norton raises a brow at him. “My, my, Mr. Brotzman,” he says, smirking. “That’s quite the brazen accusation, isn’t it?”

Todd shoots him a dirty look, shaking his head. “You came out from the same room,” he says defensively. “What else am I supposed to think?”

Norton tones down his smirk, but doesn’t spare any mercy as he says, “Please, Todd, if I’d done anything last night besides _sleep_ , the two of them wouldn’t even be _awake_ right now.”

Todd purses his lips, looking visibly annoyed. “Don’t joke about that,” he snaps.

“Who says I’m joking?” Norton shoots back innocently.

“Look,” Todd says, still annoyed and growing impatient. He looks very serious, though, and Norton could see what’s coming from miles away. “Dirk is my _friend_ ,” Todd is saying, quietly. “I don’t know what’s going on with the three of you, but Dirk is happy about it, for some reason.”

“Perish the thought,” Norton can’t help but say sarcastically.

Todd ignores him, continuing, “And I know I’m not exactly the biggest guy in the country, but I’m telling you now; I’ve got Amanda and the Rowdy 3, and Beastie.” He stops, and in a deadly serious tone, he adds, “And a _Farah_. So, if you do anything to hurt him, _either of you_ , we’re all coming down on your asses and we won’t stop until we find you and make you regret it.”

Norton spends a moment appreciating what Todd’s telling him. Honestly, he’s got no idea how much of a threat what Todd saying is - what is even _a_ Farah? Norton had thought she was one of Dirk’s friends - but the man looks like he’s got an army at his back, and he’s ready to send it marching in Dirk’s name, and it’s cavity-inducingly sweet.

Norton finds himself liking the scruffy little man very much.

Norton nods, hiding the smile forming on his face by taking a sip of his tea. “Thank you,” he tells Todd.

Todd’s serious expression turns confused. “What?”

“For being Dirk’s friend,” Norton says simply. “And not dying while doing it.”

Todd looks even more confused, but Norton’s busy making a face down at his mug. “Good God, this is disgusting,” he declares, turning to dump it down the drain before leaving the mug in the sink. “Why can’t Americans ever get _tea_ right?”

The elevator on the other side of the room dings loudly before he can keep complaining. Norton turns towards it, expecting Dirk and Priest, only to find three armed men dressed in black suits stepping out through the doors.

“What the fuck,” Norton hears Todd say, but Norton’s already sliding under the counter to his side, grabbing him by the arm and pulling him towards the master bedroom as the three men shout after them.

Norton shuts the door and locks it, throwing Todd towards the bed as he goes to the closet, pushing past the clothes to find Priest’s bags. He pulls out two guns from one of them, checks the clips, and goes back to Todd, passing one of them to him.

“You know how to use this, yes?” he asks Todd urgently, and Todd holds it between his hands awkwardly, looking shaken.

“Y-yeah, yeah,” he says, looking up at Norton. “Who were-”

Norton pulls him up off the bed and pushes him towards the connecting bathroom there. “No time,” Norton says, “Lock the door and shoot anything that comes through it that isn’t one of us.”

“What?” Todd says, stopping in the doorway and turning to look at Norton. “But what about you? You can’t take them by yourself!”

Norton rolls his eyes, just as the men outside start pounding a storm against the bedroom door. “This isn’t the time to be chivalrous, Todd,” Norton says, pushing Todd further into the bathroom before grabbing the doorknob. “Remember; if it’s not one of us, _shoot it_ ,” he says before pulling the door closed, ignoring Todd’s protests.

The bedroom door breaks open just as Norton turns around, and he shoots the first man that enters in the leg. The man shouts in pain, dropping to his knees, but his friends sidestep him easily and walk into the room, AK-47’s aimed steadily at Norton.

“Put the gun down!” one of them shouts, and Norton aims at him, pursing his lips.

“Who’re you?” Norton snaps.

The other man echoes his friend without flinching, “Put the gun down, now!”

Norton hesitates, but he knows a losing fight when he sees one. Grudgingly, he raises his hands and clicks the safety back on before tossing his gun towards them.

“There,” Norton says irritably.

One of the men reaches a hand up to his ear and says, “Target acquired,” as the other one moves forward and grabs Norton’s wrists, pulling them behind his back and securing them in handcuffs.

“Careful,” Norton hisses when the man shoves him forward by his shoulder.

“Try anything and we kill Brotzman,” the man tells him, shoving him again. “We only need you, Folgate.”

Norton feels his blood freeze in his veins at the threat, apprehension making his back stiffen.

“Fine,” he sniffs, letting the man lead him out the room.

“Twenty minutes to the meeting point,” he hears the other man in front of them say as he helps the man Norton had shot stand.

Norton feels vindictive satisfaction watching them stumble towards the elevator, at least until the man behind him grabs him roughly by the arm and starts dragging him along, too. The elevator feels suffocating as they wait for it to go all the way down to the basement.

“Fuck,” the injured man hisses painfully as he leans against his friend. “Bastard got my knee.”

His friend scoffs, straightening him up. “Good shot,” he says, and it takes Norton a moment to realize he’s actually complimenting him.

“Well, thanks,” Norton says smugly.

“Don’t get too happy,” the injured man snaps at him, looking annoyed. “Not gonna be smiling when boss gets to you.”

“Yes, about that,” Norton says, “Who sent you, then? Might as well tell me, since I’m being very cooperative right now.”

The man holding his arm snorts in amusement. “Evans,” he tells him. “You got an appointment with him.”

Norton frowns, trying to remember why the name sounds familiar. “ _Samuel_ Evans?” he says, finally connecting it to the Project Priest had mentioned. “The Informant?”

“That’s the one,” the other man confirms.

“All this trouble to see me?” Norton says, appalled. “He couldn’t have just given me a ring? For goodness’ sake, I was looking for him, too!”

The elevator dings, stopping at their floor. “Can’t be too careful,” the man holding him says, pushing him forward as the doors open. “He’s got a lot of enemies.”

“Well, if this is how he treats all his guests, I’m not surprised,” Norton snaps irritably.

They take him to a black sedan with blacked out windows, and Norton makes an indignant sound when they pop open the trunk.

“Absolutely _not_ ,” he snarls, but his protests go unheeded as two of the men haul him up despite his valiant struggles and stuff him into it.

“Get comfy,” one of the man says down at him with a smirk as Norton glares up at them.

“I’m gutting you in the balls,” Norton swears as they shut the trunk closed on him, bathing him in darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hiiii.
> 
> 1- I don't actually know that much about police lingo, but a 12-28 is supposed to be code for 'suspicious persons'. Also, that's probably not how they're supposed to talk into their radios, but meh.
> 
> 2- Amanda still hates voicemail.
> 
> 3- WHOEVER GUESSES WHO'S PRIEST'S UNCLE WAS/IS GETS A FREE ONE-SHOT OF THEIR CHOICE. ALL THEMES/PAIRINGS/RATINGS ARE ACCEPTED. Or, if you don't want anything, _please_ guess anyway because I think I made it pretty obvious and I want to know how sneaky I actually am.
> 
> 4- Also, Priest isn't really a Holistic _Hunter_ like they all claim. 
> 
> 5- Norton likes Todd, so apparently I lied about him not enjoying the _Talk_ he was supposed to be getting. God damn it. I should really stop replying in comments before the final drafts are done.
> 
> 6- The 'Americans make bad tea' is an old and tired joke, but Norton is a salty bitch, so it got in there somehow. C'mon, Norton, you're drinking it _black_ , how good were you expecting it to be??


	10. Holistic mating ritual.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reference for Project Bogle can be found here: [Project Bogle's Data File](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15859788/chapters/37528457)
> 
> Bogle is kind of an insensitive douche, but not too bad. I think. Anyway, SMEXY TIEMS HAPPENS. Between the threesome. Nothing explicit since I put the rating for this fic as M, but yeah. Norton gets off, Priest helps, Dirk helps _a little_ before going through an extremely glossed-over moment of internal conflict and then proceeding to be 100% on board with it. Norton also goes through another mental breakdown because he finally gets a taste of the Universe everyone worships in this AU (it's also kind of too brief, in my opinion, but I can't make it any better without dragging too much).

The ride to their destination is bumpy and incredibly uncomfortable, and if Norton weren’t too busy keeping track of the route they’re driving along, he’d be choking on the claustrophobia threatening to overwhelm him. It’s not a long ride, though, and they stop some twenty minutes later. Norton’s immensely relieved when the trunk pops open as soon as they stop, and the men pull him out of it without delay.

They’re somewhere deserted, on a road flanked by what look like abandoned factories, but Norton doesn’t get to look at much before he’s being dragged towards one of the buildings. It’s surprisingly empty inside, and brightly-lit.

There’s a steel chair in the middle of it, bolted to the concrete ground, and it looks like a scene out of a bad spy movie, if Norton’s honest, especially when they force him onto the chair and uncuffs his hands to cuff them again to a bar across the chair’s back.

“Agent Norton Folgate,” a new voice says, and Norton has to crane his neck to see a newcomer walking in behind them.

The man is black, and looks like he’s in his 30’s, with a close-shaved head and a trimmed beard on his sharp jaw. He’s dressed to the nines in a tailored, dark-grey suit and white dress shirt buttoned all the way up, a pin-striped red and white tie pinned neatly in a perfect Eldredge knot around his neck. Norton would be impressed if he’s not pissed about the whole debacle.

“Samuel Evans,” Norton guesses with a scowl, eyes not leaving the man as he walks towards them until he’s standing in front of Norton and the chair.

The man smiles widely, waving the other three men away. Norton hears them shuffling back out of the building, the door slamming shut behind them loudly, the sound echoing throughout the warehouse. There’s the faint sound of an engine roaring to life outside and a car driving away, and Norton curses internally, not liking being left alone in the middle of nowhere with this man and his questionable intent.

“Interesting,” Evans says as he looks down at Norton attentively, crossing his arms over his chest. “Very interesting. Universe wasn’t kidding, huh. You look _exactly_ like Dirk.”

“That’s not what you brought me here for,” Norton tells him tersely.

Evans’s smile widens, and he nods. “You’re right,” he concedes. “That’s a problem for another day.”

He crouches down suddenly in one swift, almost elegant, move, and places his hands on Norton’s knees, looking up into Norton’s eyes. Norton tenses up under his touch, but otherwise refuses to show how disturbed he really feels at the scrutiny.

“Now, where is it, where is it?” the man mutters to himself, gaze searching.

Norton feels his left wrist heating up, and hisses in pain, jerking forward against his restraints. Evans makes a triumphant sound, reaching around Norton’s waist, and Norton feels and hears him fumbling with the bar that his cuffs are attached to, and realizes that he’s unlatching it somehow, freeing Norton from the chair, but not the cuffs.

“Turn around now, sweetheart,” Evans coaxes, and Norton glares at him but shifts until his restrained hands are facing Evans. “Good boy.”

“Don’t patronize me,” Norton snaps at him over his shoulder.

Evans chuckles as he gingerly takes a hold of the chain linking Norton’s hands, tugging it closer to himself. “Feisty,” he chaffs, reaching a hand into his jacket and pulling out a small ring of keys. “I think I know what Priest likes about you.”

Norton’s tempted to punch him as the man unlocks one of the cuffs, the one on his burning wrist, but he’s only managed to turn back around on the chair to face him when Evans grabs his freed hand and pulls it close to his own face, studying it intently.

“The Mark of Cain, huh,” Evans mutters, chuckling lowly. “You know that’s ironic?”

“How so?” Norton asks, scowling.

Evans looks away from his wrist to grin up at him. “Priest,” he says. “He didn’t tell you?”

Norton’s scowl deepens considerably as he seethes, “Tell me _what_? Stop talking in riddles.”

Evans shrugs, letting go of his wrist and standing back up. “Blackwing called him Project Cain before he got promoted to Agent,” he says simply. “No connection, probably, but the Universe _does_ work in mysterious ways.”

Norton’s not sure how to react to that. Priest had never mentioned that, not when he’d told him he was a Project. Granted, Norton hadn’t asked, but it sounds like something he could’ve at least _mentioned_. It feels a little like betrayal, learning it from this man he’s just met, instead of Priest himself. He makes a mental note to bring it up with the other man, but for now...

Norton scoffs, clenching his hands into fists, sorely tempted to punch Evans in the face. “Just get a move on, will you? I don’t have all day.”

He nearly flinches when Evans rubs his back with a free hand comfortingly, gentle and firm.

“Don’t worry, sugar, you’re not my type,” Evans says suddenly, and Norton glares harder, jerking away until Evans’s hand drops away from him.

“I _wasn’t_ worried,” he hisses. “I’m not afraid of you.”

Evans leans back on his haunches, a pitying look on his face. “You can’t lie to me, sweetheart,” he says. “It’s nothing to be ashamed of. You’re not the only one, you know? I’ve met dozens by the dime, hookers from all over. You’re all scared of the same thing; of losing control.”

Norton snarls at him, but Evans just shakes his head, holding his free hand up. “I could make you live through it,” he says, “Re-live your worst memory of that fear. So, you can hold onto that pride of yours, or just admit that I’m right. It’s your choice.”

“What’s that going to achieve?” Norton demands angrily. “I thought you were just going to get rid of this damned thing inside me!”

Evans strokes his chin absently as he hums, thoughtful. “Well, usually when I help people, I charge a fee,” he explains. “But seeing as this is a favour for the Universe, I’m feeling generous. Think of it as your price for helping you get rid of the artefact.” His eyes flash as he adds with a serene smile, “I like collecting new data.”

Norton jumps to his feet, then, backing away from Evans with a glare. “Well, you can shove your help up your arse, then!” he snaps at him loudly. “Take me back, I don’t need _you_ to get rid of it!”

“Oh, c’mon, sugar,” Evans says, straightening up and holding his hands up in front of him appeasingly. “I was just _kidding_ , okay? Jeez, you really need to relax. I have to help you, anyway, or the Universe is gonna give me hell for it.”

Norton stares at him with narrowed eyes, hackles raised. Evans is _odd_ , and Norton’s got no idea whether there’s any truth to anything the man says, even that bit about Priest. Everything he’s said so far has been flippant and _invasive_ , and Norton would be walking out of the building right now if he didn’t think Friedkin would whine at him for it later.

Norton purses his lips at him, still angry. “You’ve got a twisted sense of humour,” he bites out as he walks back towards the chair.

Evans chuckles wryly, gesturing at Norton’s arms. “So I’ve been told,” he says, and Norton holds his wrists out warily as Evans grabs a hold of his left arm and presses the fingers of his other hand along the length of Norton’s forearm. “I think this is going to sting a bit,” he warns before he mutters something unintelligible under his breath and digs his fingers harder into Norton’s skin.

‘Sting’ turns out to be a grave understatement.

The burning in Norton’s wrist gets harsher, spreading higher up his arm all the way up to his shoulder, and Norton gasps as he swallows back a cry, jerking back against Evan’s hold instinctively to get away from the pain. Evans’s grip tightens further, but Norton barely notices; there’s a loud echo of voices grousing in his ears, a cacophony of protests that Norton knows is the Mark trying to get him to stop whatever’s happening, and it’s so thunderous that Norton feels like his brain’s about to explode.

**stopnowhatareyoudoingyouneeduswearemanynortonfolgatelittletroublewecanstopthiswewillendurethecommitteedoesnotforgivewhereisthemachinenortonyoupoufcomebackcomebacksonitwasamistakethemachinereturnusisitcomingbackunlockthedoorkeepitcloseditwillcomethroughfindthemachinelistenlistenlistenlistenlistentous**

He can’t hear his own thoughts, and he can feel his mouth falling open, feel the muscles in his throat clenching tightly as he screams, but he can’t hear anything but the damned _voices_ , and Norton’s vision blurs as Evans lets go of him, and he drops down to his knees, back arching and face turned upwards.

**littletroublewhereareyoutakingusweareyouwhereisthemachinenortontakeitbackyouwerealwaysadisappointmentwhydoyoulooklikemelittlenortonfolgateyouodiouslittleshitisitreallyacoincidencenortonlistentoussomethingbroughtmeheregonnakillyounortonfolgatehowmuchofitwasyouthedoorwillopenonedaythereisnostoppingitiamsosorrythereisnoevilthereisorderinitschaos**

They’re getting louder and louder, building up to an ear-shattering crescendo, and even as Norton squeezes his eyes shut, they’re searing images behind his closed lids, flashes of memories - his own, the Mark’s; things and people and places that he’s never seen before - fill his mind like physical blows to his brain. It’s too much, everything feels brutal and violent and _heavy_ and then all of a sudden, everything just _stops_.

The silence that fills his ears is _deafening_ in the wake of all the noise, and Norton thinks he might actually _have_ gone deaf, but he realizes that he can still hear his own harsh panting. When he opens his eyes, he finds himself kneeling in that weird place instead of the warehouse with Evans, except he’s alone and Friedkin is nowhere in sight, which is weird considering he’s never been here without the man before.

The pain in his arm and his head is gone, though, which is a relief.

“Norton Folgate,” a voice echoes softly in the air, and Norton looks around warily, trying to find the source of it.

“Who’s there?” he demands, his voice scratchy from all the screaming.

“Little trouble, little Norton,” the voice says, and it sounds serene and soothing - almost comforting. Norton can’t see anything in any direction, and the voice just seems to be coming from the very air itself. "Poor little key-bearer…”

A light in the sky flashes particularly brightly, and Norton squints up in its direction, only to see nothing particularly different from the usual lights.

“Trouble is brewing,” the voice says softly. “A mistake resurfaces…”

Another light flashes, and another voice, more defined and far more aggressive, says loudly in the distance, “Open the door!”

“The key is the weapon,” the other voice cuts in, and Norton gasps as something unseen brushes across his face, gentle and fleeting. “Protect the guide…”

“Wait!” Norton shouts frantically, not liking what he’s hearing one bit. He doesn’t understand any of it, and it sounds _important_ but why, he can’t help but wonder.

_Why him._

“Fate and chance are not mutually exclusive, Norton Folgate,” the voice says before Norton can ask his questions out loud. “Your choices are your own…”

One of the lights in the sky flares directly above him, and Norton gasps as he feels something _entering_ him, an invisible force wrapping around his heart in his chest, not crushing or even gripping it tight; just _there_ , a presence behind his ribs that he can’t deny.

The voice sighs softly, then, and resignation floods through Norton, an emotion that he’s sure isn’t his own.

“History will repeat itself; be wise with your decisions…”

When Norton blinks, he’s back in the warehouse, staring up at the ceiling, and his arm doesn’t hurt, but his knees do. Suddenly feeling completely exhausted, he lets his body slump forward, closing his eyes as he rests his forehead against the dirty floor, focusing on steadying his ragged breathing.

“The thing’s not gone yet,” he hears Evans say, somewhere to his right. “But the spell puts it to sleep for a while.”

“Fantastic,” Norton mutters tiredly. He raises his right arm, the one still with the cuffs attached to it, and shakes it once, saying, “Get this off me.”

Evans crouches down and helps him to his feet, blessedly without comment, and Norton accepts the help without complaint, too tired to be proud. Evans unlocks the other cuff wordlessly, too, stuffing them into his pants pocket while Norton stares down at his hands, tracing his fingers over his wrists, before clutching at his chest.

_The weird feeling is still there._

It makes him want to stand and walk, though he’s not sure where to. He just knows he wants to _go_ somewhere, and it’s not a terrible feeling, but it’s very naggy and subtly annoying. He wonders dazedly if this is what Dirk had been talking about, seemingly ages ago.

Norton hates being told what to do.

A stray thought pops up in his mind - followed by a faint voice telling him, “ _Danger_.” - and Norton reflexively shifts sideways and throws an arm out at Evans, dragging the shocked man down to the ground with him just as a stream of bullets sail through the air, missing them by inches.

“Fuck!” Evans curses, covering his arms over his head as he turns to look at Norton. “It’s the Russian mob!” he shouts at Norton.

The shots cease after what seems like forever, and Norton quickly drags the man towards the door of the building, pulling him by the back of his collar.

“Russian _mob_?” Norton hisses at him.

Evans shrugs in response, and Norton groans in exasperation as they reach the door, pushing Evans to the ground beside it.

“Stay down!” he hisses down at the man warningly before he cautiously pulls the door open.

He can see two burly-looking men standing several feet away, just outside the entrance, and curses internally; they’re reloading a large, heavy-duty _machine gun_ between them. Pushing the door back closed, Norton turns to Evans.

“Are you armed?” he asks him, relieved when the man pulls a gun out from behind him and passes it to Norton. Norton clicks the safety off before sternly telling Evans, “Stay here and don’t get in my way.”

He turns, about to pull the door back open, when Evans grabs his shoulder, and he looks back at him with irritation.

“There’s a spatial dislocator in my car,” Evans says defensively, letting go of Norton’s shoulder at the look he gives him. “We just need to make it to the back of the building.”

Norton brightens significantly at the new-found information. “Stay close behind me,” he tells Evans.

He pulls the door open again just in time to see the two men outside aiming the machine gun towards the building once more, and swiftly shoots them both in the head. They drop like dead flies, and Norton creeps out the door, Evans following close with a hand tugging at the back of Norton’s shirt.

A flash of something flies past Norton’s vision as he goes round the door - at the same time a voice in his head whispers urgently, “Duck!” - and he jerks back in alarm, missing a bat aiming for his head by an inch. The bat comes swinging back quickly and Norton sidesteps it, pulling Evans along with him, and aims his gun at the man attacking them, shooting him in the chest.

The man’s eyes bulge out as he drops the bat and staggers backwards from the shot, hands reaching up to grasp at his bullet wound, but he doesn’t fall. He glares at Norton, instead, yelling unintelligibly as he lunges forward at him.

“Oh, you _are_ Russian,” Norton remarks dryly as he pulls Evans and himself out of the man’s way and runs past him, towards the back of the building. “Ta, poppet!” he yells over his shoulder, just because he can.

“Over there!” Evans says when they reach the back, pointing into the distance where a silver Mercedes is parked in the middle of an otherwise empty lot.

“Wow, I never would’ve guessed,” Norton tells him sarcastically, but Evans has already run past him, reaching the car before him.

He’s digging around the bottom of the driver’s seat by the time Norton jogs up to him.

“There it is,” Evans says, pulling out from the car, a device that looks just like an ordinary smartphone held triumphantly in his hands.

Eyeing it skeptically, Norton asks, “Are you _sure_ that’s a spatial dislocator?”

Evans is busy fiddling with it, but he’s not busy enough to roll his eyes as he explains, “I paid good money to get it re-designed. A lot easier to get it past airport security like this.”

Norton scoffs, but Evans has a point. A shiver runs down his spine for no apparent reason - and the same voice from before says, “Behind you.” - and Norton whirls around, aiming his gun in the direction where they’d come from. There’s nothing there, but a moment later, the man he’d shot in the chest lumbers into view, hefting the machine gun his dead friends had abandoned, a maniacal grin on his face.

“Don’t mean to rush you, love, but we’ve got company,” Norton tells Evans over his shoulder, eyes still fixed on their approaching attacker.

“Just a little bit more,” Evans grunts at him, and Norton snaps, “Anywhere is better than _here_ right now!”

“I don’t want to end up in the city zoo with a hungry lion,” Evans snaps back, adding glibly, “Just shoot the idiot!”

Norton huffs, and takes aim, but the gun does little more than click pathetically in his hands, and Norton pulls the trigger repeatedly with frustration. “It’s empty!” he says before throwing it to the side. “Why do you have only half a clip full?”

“I guess I forgot to reload it from the last shootout, _I don’t know_ ,” Evans retorts, glancing up at Norton with a glare.

Norton looks over at the Russian man across the lot, and sees him stopping and lifting the machine gun higher, steadying its barrel.

“Oh, for goodness’ sake!” Norton shouts, turning back to Evans, snatching the dislocator out of his hands and pressing on the largest button visible on the screen before grabbing a hold of Evans’s shoulder. “Hold on!”

\---

Norton lands abruptly on something firm and warm, eliciting a strangled grunt of pain from it. With a groan, he pushes himself up, and finds himself staring down at Evans’s agonised face.

“You’re crushing my balls,” Evans bites out, and Norton looks down to see his knee is indeed placed strategically between the man’s legs, and quickly scrambles to get off of him.

“Can’t say I’m too sorry,” Norton sniffs down at him as Evans sits up slowly, reaching down to cup at his injured jewels. “Considering you’d arranged to have me kidnapped.”

Evans shoots him a dirty look, but Norton’s too busy looking around to find out where they’d landed. He realizes with shock and relief that they’re back at the hotel room, and he rushes towards the bedroom, disappointed to find it empty. The door is still broken, hanging crookedly from its hinges, but their clothes are still in the closet, along with one of Priest’s bags.

Norton goes back out to the living room, finding Evans in the kitchenette, drinking directly from a new bottle of whiskey.

“Good grief,” Norton scoffs, rolling his eyes as he takes a seat at the counter and puts the spatial dislocator still in his hand on it.

“What?” Evans asks defensively as he wipes at his mouth and places the bottle heavily on the counter between them. “I just had a near-death experience. I’m entitled to some alcohol.” He picks the bottle back up and takes another gulp, making a face as he swallows. “This is really shit.”

“Wouldn’t recommend the tea, either,” Norton says dryly. “Have you got an actual phone with you?”

Evans puts the bottle back on the counter and digs through the pockets of his pants and jacket before shrugging. “Think I left it in the car,” he says, frowning. “Fuck, now I gotta get a new one.”

Norton shakes his head. “We’ve got to call Priest,” he says. “They might be looking for me.”

Evans huffs out a laugh, tilting his head towards the elevator. “Count to five,” he advises and Norton’s brows furrow in confusion.

The elevator dings, then, and Norton turns towards it to see Priest standing inside it, looking pissed as all hell.

“Evans!” he bellows, striding into the penthouse and towards them, drawing a gun from behind him and dropping the bag he’s carrying onto the floor on the way.

Dirk and Todd run out after him, Dirk grabbing onto his shoulder and shouting, “Calm down, Mr. Priest, I told you, Norton’s perfectly _fine_!”

“No, he’s not,” Norton protests, watching with satisfaction as Evans’s face pales and he backs up against the stove, hands held up in front of him as Priest stops a few feet away, gun aimed at his face. “This bleeding idiot had the grand idea to kidnap me instead of just calling like a _normal_ person.”

Dirk shoots him a dirty look while Todd moves closer to Norton at the counter and smacks him in the arm.

“Ouch!” Norton says, looking at him with disbelief. “What’re you hitting _me_ for? I’m a victim here!”

Todd’s stare is flat and utterly unimpressed as he says, “Tell Priest to knock it off, we’re already getting shit from the hotel for breaking the door.”

“Mr. Priest,” Norton hears Dirk say warningly, and he looks over at the two of them to find Priest clicking the safety off.

“Bugger,” Norton mutters, getting off his seat and moving to stand between Priest and Evans. “I was joking, Priest, you can put that thing away now, love.”

Priest doesn’t even spare him a glance, eyes dark and narrowed and fixed firmly on Evans over Norton’s head.

“I didn’t do anything the Universe didn’t tell me to,” Evans says weakly, his tone bordering on whiny. “ _You_ know what that’s like, right, Ozzie? Cut me some slack, here, I just got shot at.”

“ _Shot at_?” Priest echoes dangerously, and Norton can see his finger twitching over the trigger.

“Priest,” Norton starts, taking a step closer to the man. “Happy thoughts, love, there’s a dear.”

Priest’s eyes travel lower until he’s looking at Norton, but his aim doesn’t waver from Evans. “Can’t take my eyes off you for one _fuckin’_ second,” he hisses irritably, like as if Norton _wants_ to be dragged around by mad, holistic, Universe-driven psychos into situations he has not a single ounce of control of.

His tone pisses Norton off, and Norton grabs Priest’s outstretched hand by the wrist without thinking, jerking him forward violently, and Priest ends up stumbling forward with the sudden motion. Using his momentum against him, Norton sidesteps the man as he lets go of Priest's wrist and trips him with a foot. Priest crashes into the ground, hard, and Norton skips over his fallen form, bends down to take the gun out of his slackened grip, and quickly makes his way over to Evans.

“Dirk, poppet, get a wet towel, will you?” Norton says casually as he passes the gun to Evans, who’s staring at him with wide, shocked eyes. “He’ll need it for his nose.”

“Was that completely _necessary_?” Dirk asks with mild exasperation, but he goes off into the master bedroom, anyway.

“You took him down in a _second_ ,” Todd says suddenly, staring slack-jawed at Priest, who’s pushing himself up off the floor slowly. “How did you do that?”

“I took him by surprise,” Norton says dismissively, watching as Priest gets to his feet. Norton can practically taste his fury in the air, rolling off of him in waves, and almost - just _almost_ \- regrets what he’s done. “Evans, perhaps you should find somewhere to hide. For the time being,” he tells Evans without tearing his eyes from Priest.

Evans snaps out of his shock and looks over at Priest. “Damn,” he says, alarmed. “Good luck, sugar!” he tells Norton before ducking under the counter and speeding off towards the guest bedroom.

“Hey, wait!” Todd calls after him before running off as well.

Which leaves Norton alone, with a furious Priest, whose face looks quite ghastly with the blood trailing down from his nose, streaming through the scar down his lips. Norton tenses up against the stove as their eyes meet and the other man’s serene expression belies the storm brewing steadily in his eyes. He looks like the first time they’d met in Blackwing’s compound; a soulless man with no conscience, and the twinge of regret from before comes back to Norton with a vengeance.

“That hurt,” Priest says, wiping under his nose with the back of his hand. It gets most of the blood off, but there are still traces of it drying around his mouth.

“Sorry?” Norton tries half-heartedly, blindly reaching behind him for anything to use as a weapon. Just in case.

There’s nothing in reach, and Norton has a split second to move before Priest lunges for him.

Norton dives to the side and Priest crashes into the stove, but that doesn’t even phase him - not when he’s _ready_ for it - and Norton only manages to take two steps behind him before Priest grabs him by the elbow and pulls him back. Norton almost loses his footing, instinctively kicking out as he tries to pry Priest’s fingers off of him, but Priest’s grip doesn’t even loosen and even Norton’s kick to his shin seems to have no effect on him at all.

Norton yelps when Priest turns him around fully until they’re facing each other, and he grabs a hold of Norton’s other arm, shoving him towards the counter. The edge digs painfully into Norton’s back, and Norton’s grunt of pain is genuine as it’s shocked out of him. Priest moves so fast that Norton’s vision blurs as he’s lifted up onto the counter, and Priest crowds him against it, moving between Norton’s spread legs and pinning his hands against the surface of the counter by his sides.

“You really shouldn’t have done that,” Priest says grimly, blood-streaked face inches away from Norton’s.

“Are you going to punish me for it, Mr. Priest?” Norton asks him breathlessly, only half-joking as he stares into Priest’s dark eyes.

They’re the same height like this, Norton’s even just a bit taller considering he’s not that short to begin with, and despite the tight grip Priest has on his wrists, he doesn’t feel all that fearful. In fact, he’s very sorely tempted to lean forward and close the little distance between them, and he jerks his hips forward experimentally, thrilled to find that Priest is half-hard against him.

“It’s not a punishment if you _like_ it, Norton,” Priest grunts at him, licking at his lips as he moves impossibly closer. He lets go of Norton’s wrists to grab his hips instead, and Norton gasps as Priest drags him forward until his ass is tittering right on the edge of the counter, their groins pressed painfully close.

“I’ve still got the Mark,” Norton groans out, moving his hands behind him to lean back on them so that he can roll his hips up wantonly, the friction making him harden rapidly.

“I’ve noticed,” Priest growls out, holding his hips still. Norton makes a frustrated sound at that, reaching up with one hand to cup at the back of Priest’s neck and pulling him close. “I might still hurt you,” Priest warns, his breaths puffing against Norton’s lips.

Norton rolls his eyes, scoffing, “It wouldn’t be the first time,” before he pulls Priest forward again and leans in at the same time, kissing him.

There’s more tongue and teeth than the night before, and Norton whines in his throat as he tastes the coppery tang of blood on Priest’s lips. Priest has let go of his hips to untuck Norton’ shirt hastily, his hands large and warm and determined as they travel up Norton’s sides and grope at his skin, touching him everywhere.

Norton’s back arches at the heat that Priest’s fingers trail across his skin, and he uses his other hand to push Priest’s jacket off his shoulder. Priest draws back from him to shrug it off himself completely, letting it drop carelessly to the floor, and then he’s back in Norton’s space in a flash, hands reaching down to pull Norton’s shirt apart from the bottom. The buttons pop off as his shirt tears open, and Norton feels himself twitch in his underwear at the sheer brutality of the action.

Priest pushes the shirt off his shoulders without pausing, leaving it hanging from Norton’s elbows before he’s tugging Norton’s undershirt up to his armpits and pressing a hand against Norton’s exposed chest until he’s lying flat on his back on the counter.

“Tell me to stop,” Priest hisses as he leans down on him to nip at Norton’s chest, his lips hot and wet against the skin around Norton’s nipple.

“God, _no_ ,” Norton groans, throwing his head back against the counter as he tries to get enough movement from the tangle of his damaged shirt to reach down at Priest. “ _Please_ , don’t stop.”

Priest grabs his wrists and holds them down against the counter, and Norton groans again, but keeps them there even as Priest lets go, understanding the unspoken order.

“Say that again,” Priest says as he runs his hands down Norton’s sides and tugs at his pants, leaning up to suckle at the sensitive underside of Norton’s ear.

“Please,” Norton obeys desperately, recovering enough of his higher brain functions to wrap his legs around Priest’s waist and lock his ankles together, pulling their hips closer. “ _Please_ , do something, _damn_ you!”

Priest lets out a low groan, his hips thrusting against Norton’s and drawing a whimper from him. Priest finally hooks his fingers into the waistband of Norton’s pants and tugs them down roughly, along with his briefs. Norton thinks he’s going to faint when he’s exposed to the air, rock hard and brushing up against Priest’s clothed belly teasingly. Priest wraps a hand around him, and Norton’s hips jerk upwards as he whimpers again, fingers twitching with the urge to touch Priest.

“Svlad,” Priest grunts out suddenly, and Norton feels his heart plummet to his gut even as the pleasure in his lower regions builds up steadily when Priest starts pumping him in slow but firm strokes. And then Priest adds, “Don’t just stand there, boy,” and Norton thinks he’s going to explode when he raises his head enough to see Dirk approaching them, a face towel held tightly between his hands.

“Sorry,” Dirk says when he’s by Priest’s side, sounding dazed as he stares down at Norton’s erection in Priest’s hand with wide, astounded eyes.

“Touch him,” Priest tells him, and Norton keens, his back arching and eyes squeezing shut when he feels Dirk’s damp hand join Priest’s, hesitant, but no less warm and pleasurable.

“Oh,” he hears Dirk say breathlessly, and Norton forces his eyes open to see Dirk’s face flushing a pretty scarlet, his mouth slack and slightly parted.

Norton would deny it to hell and back, later, but that’s what does it. He comes, hard and forceful, spilling all over Dirk’s fingers - the shortest he’s ever lasted in his lifetime - and he slumps back against the counter, his legs falling away from Priest’s waist tiredly. Dirk stares at his hand, still touching Norton, and Norton manages to reach up far enough to tug at Dirk’s sleeve.

“Give us a kiss, love,” he coaxes sweetly, and Dirk’s eyes widen, but he lets go of Norton to turn towards him, leaning down slowly, staring at Norton’s lips.

Norton pushes himself up and grabs the end of Dirk’s tie to pull him close, eliciting a yelp from the other man that he swallows greedily, kissing Dirk gently, but firmly.

Dirk is stiff and unsure the whole time, but Norton doesn’t relent. He’s let go of Dirk’s tie, so the man can pull away any time he wants, but after a while, Dirk relaxes into the kiss, leaning down closer until Norton’s back to lying flat on the counter. Norton feels Dirk’s hand reach down to grab one of his, twining their fingers and gripping tight, and Norton sucks on Dirk’s bottom lip, delighting in the whimper Dirk makes at the action.

They part when they run out of breath, both of them panting quietly into each other’s air as their gazes meet.

“Hi, there,” Norton says, smiling up at Dirk.

Dirk’s blush darkens further on his cheeks, and it’s such an endearing sight that Norton wants to wrap him up in a blanket and cuddle him for hours.

Norton’s shocked when he feels something wet rub against his groin and looks down quickly to see Priest wiping him clean with the towel that Dirk had brought. He looks very smug as he does it, and Norton rolls his eyes, but doesn’t say anything. He’s feeling quite content and generous, so he allows Priest to have his moment.

But then Dirk backs away, and Norton pushes himself up on his elbows, watching as Dirk glances between him and Priest with confusion.

“I should- I think I heard Todd calling my name,” he stammers out, still backing away.

It’s very obviously a lie, and Norton feels something like guilt churning in his gut. “Dirk, wait,” he starts, and Dirk jumps at the sound of his voice, freezing and looking at him with wide, caught eyes.

“We should talk about this, yes?” Norton says carefully.

Dirk’s eyes widen further, if that’s at all possible, and Norton sits up completely, hastily pulling down his undershirt and slapping Priest away to tuck himself back into his pants.

“Don’t run away, love,” Norton says to Dirk, pulling his shirt back up his shoulders and slipping off the counter to his feet. “I’m sorry if that happened too fast.”

“ _Really_ fast,” Priest snorts next to him, and Norton smacks his arm with a glare, hissing, “ _Not_ helping!”

“That’s not it,” Dirk cuts in quickly, drawing Norton’s and Priest’s eyes to him. He’s looking down at the ground, lips pursed, scowling deeply, the blush on his cheeks now completely faded. “I wasn’t- I _wanted_ to, so that’s not it,” he tries to explain, looking frustrated.

Norton moves closer to him, but stops when Dirk takes a step back, looking up at him with conflicted eyes.

“I love Mr. Priest,” he says quietly, an almost helpless tone his voice that threatens to break Norton’s heart. “But you.”

Dirk looks over at Priest quickly, his eyes glazing over with gathering tears. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to do,” he says, sounding lost and utterly confused.

“Dirk,” Norton starts, drawing Dirk’s watery eyes to him. “Please, it’s perfectly fine to be upset. But don’t run away from us. That will only make things worse, trust me.”

Dirk shakes his head, his expression becoming pained. “But I’m _not_ upset,” he insists, waving his hand - the one that Norton notices with a cringe is still covered in Norton’s come - in the air and continuing with growing frustration, “I’m completely _not_ upset, I’m very wildly aware that I’m attracted to the _both_ of you, and while that might sound completely insane and absolutely _exhilarating_ at the same time, it just _doesn’t make sense_ , because I love Mr. Priest!” He inhales deeply at the end of his tirade, his gaze on Norton becoming anxious as he says softly, “Why am I starting to feel like I love you like _that_ , too?”

Norton feels his chest tighten at Dirk’s words, guilt and regret melding together inside him like a block of cement is crushing his lungs.

“You don’t mean that, Dirk,” Norton says slowly, cautiously. “You’re confusing sexual attraction to an emotional attachment that you can’t possibly have towards someone you’ve just met less than a month ago.”

“I’m _not_ ,” Dirk protests, looking almost insulted at Norton even daring to say so. “I might not be completely right about most things, but I’m absolutely sure about how I _feel_ about you, and I’m just starting to realize that that is _exactly_ how I’m feeling!”

Dirk’s expression freezes suddenly, and he breaks into a grin of dawning realization before Norton can react, snapping his fingers in the air with a loud ‘hah!’.

“That’s it!” he says loudly, looking between Priest and Norton excitedly. “I can _feel_ you!” he says, pointing at Norton. “You’re not _nothing_ anymore! Oh my god!”

Norton’s brows furrow in confusion as he watches Dirk start pacing in the small space of the kitchenette. He’s reeling from the sudden change in Dirk’s mood, and he glances over at Priest for help, except Priest is simply watching Dirk with a mildly proud expression on his face.

“The Universe,” Dirk says, still pacing. “You’re part of it now, I’m so stupid for not realizing it earlier, you _are_ connected! Stupid Dirk, thinking with his dick instead of his brain, god!”

“You’re not stupid,” Norton says, frowning. “Don’t say that about yourself.”

Dirk stops pacing to roll his eyes at him. “I _know_ that,” he says. “I’m just- I can’t believe I’m _just_ realizing that now, you’ve been connected since you came back with Samuel! Hah!”

Norton’s frown deepens. “You’ve lost me,” he admits.

Dirk smiles widely, throwing his hands out as he asks, “Don’t you get it?” He looks almost as smug as Priest when he adds, “You’re connected to _me_. The Universe made you _ours_.”

Norton still doesn’t get it, but before he can tell Dirk that, Todd’s voice rings out from the guest bedroom, asking, “Is it safe to come out now?”

“ _Yes_ , Todd!” Dirk shouts back at him, excitedly adding, “You wouldn’t _believe_ the breakthrough I’ve just had!”

He looks like he’s about to run off in the direction of Todd’s voice, and Norton grabs his shirt quickly before he can move.

“Your _hand_ ,” Norton hisses, and Dirk makes a squeak of alarm before he scrambles towards the sink, hastily washing Norton’s come off.

“It smells like sex out here,” Norton hears Evans say, and he groans in exasperation when Priest replies, in an utterly serious tone, “Holistic mating ritual.”

\---

“So, I called Dirk because the Universe told me you could help me get rid of the bastard that wants me dead,” Evans explains later at an Italian restaurant he apparently owns. “In exchange, I have to help you figure out how to permanently get rid of that fancy artefact you got straddled with.”

They’re sitting at a large, round table in a private room, expensively furnished and dimly-lit by a mini-chandelier.

“I figured, two birds, one stone, am I right?” Evans continues, lifting a glass of red wine and taking a sip.

“Why does someone want you dead?” Todd asks between bites of the burger he’d ordered.

“Besides the obvious?” Norton scoffs. “He’s an annoying bloke, what more reason does anyone need?”

He’s admittedly feeling irritable, sat snugly between Priest and Dirk. Priest is still looking very smug, and Dirk has been shooting him looks he thinks Norton doesn’t see since they’d left the hotel. Norton feels like he’s missing the punchline to a joke that everyone else is laughing at, and it’s _annoying_.

“You’re breaking my heart, sugar,” Evans says, shooting Norton a mock-hurt look. “I thought we had a connection.”

Norton rolls his eyes. “Don’t be daft,” he snaps. “You had me _thrown into a trunk_ , you’re lucky I didn’t let Priest shoot you.”

Evans glances at Priest warily, nodding. “Fair enough,” he concedes. “But really, I’ve got a bounty on my head, and it’s not looking good.”

“The Russians, yes?” Dirk pipes up, leaning over the table eagerly. “You mentioned them attacking you?”

Evans gives him an amused look. “I haven’t told you they were Russians, actually,” he says, “But yeah, that’s them. They’re getting bolder by the day. It’s not a coincidence that they attacked me and Norton at the warehouse, they’ve been actively tailing me and anyone connected to me.”

Dirk nods, asking, “Why are they actually trying to kill you, though? What did you _do_?”

Evans shrugs carelessly. “I’ve got dirt on their boss,” he says simply. “And they don’t like that.”

“You tried to blackmail them, didn’t you,” Priest says, sounding unimpressed.

“Maybe a little,” Evans confesses, having the grace to look slightly ashamed.

“Haven’t changed a bit, have you,” Priest says dryly. “Why do I always meet you when you bite off more than you can chew?”

Evans looks annoyed then, and Norton looks over at Priest questioningly.

“Genius here tried to blackmail the president when he was 15,” Priest says with a sharp-toothed grin. “NSA didn’t know what to do with him, so Blackwing was called in. That’s how he got recruited.”

“Wait, _the_ President of the United States?” Todd asks with disbelief, looking at Evans with something like grudging respect.

Evans rolls his eyes, biting out, “He was President _Elect_ at the time, and it wasn’t my fault he had more secrets to hide than the fucking Bermuda Triangle.”

“ _Fascinating_ ,” Dirk says, grinning widely. “Why do you want the Russian Mafia’s magic wand, though?”

“They have a magic wand?” Todd echoes, looking at Dirk with confusion.

Evans, meanwhile, looks impressed. “Well, well, you _are_ the Universe’s favourite, aren’t you?” he says with a grin.

Dirk waves a hand dismissively. “Lucky guess,” he says, although he does look pleased with himself.

“Of course,” Evans says sarcastically before a grim expression settles on his features. “What the Russians think is a magic wand is actually a sonic screwdriver,” he says.

Norton’s jaw drops at that and he straightens in his seat. “You’re _kidding_ , right?” he asks, almost hysterically. “How in the bloody hell did the _Russian mob_ get their hands on a _sonic screwdriver_?”

Evans shrugs, shaking his head. “I have no idea, but the Universe is pretty damn sure that if it stays with them, this whole city’s gonna get thrown into a wormhole by the end of the week,” he says wryly.

“What’s a sonic screwdriver?” Dirk asks Norton curiously.

“It _is_ basically a magic wand, except that it’s not magic at all and in the wrong hands, it can be _very dangerous_ ,” Norton tells him before turning back to Evans. “Why haven’t you contacted Torchwood if you knew about this?”

Evans snorts, shooting him a flat look. “The same reason why you’re running away from them,” he says, and Norton clenches his jaw, rubbing at his wrist subconsciously. “The Committee’s pretty much calling all the shots now, and it’s not like I’ve got the Doctor on speed dial. Universe says I can’t trust anyone but Dirk Gently.”

Norton purses his lips, letting Evans’s words sink in, thinking. Dirk’s asking Evans more questions, Todd, too, but Norton doesn’t pay them any attention. Something’s nagging in the back of his mind, a feeling that’s telling him he’s _forgetting_ something - a tiny little voice murmuring gently, “Come look over here...” - and he doesn’t realize he’s standing up from his seat until a hand grabs his arm and he looks down dazedly to find Priest frowning up at him.

“Where are you going?” he asks.

Norton looks down at the hand on his arm, frowning slightly. “I have to,” he starts, but then stops, because he doesn't remember what he had been about to say. “I’m not sure,” he says instead, frown deepening.

Dirk touches his other arm, and Norton turns to him to see him looking at Norton almost excitedly. “It’s a _feeling_ , isn’t it?” Dirk asks.

Norton shakes his head, stops, then blinks rapidly, trying to gather his thoughts. “I don’t know,” he confesses, and something makes him want to look at the one door in the room, closed shut behind Evans. “I have to go,” he says distractedly, pushing his chair back further and shrugging off Priest’s and Dirk’s hands.

He finds himself walking out of the room, barely hearing the others calling his name and following after him, and then he’s out of the restaurant and standing in the middle of a busy pavement. He turns left, walking straight ahead, not even sure where he’s going, but feeling very sure that he needs to go there.

The feeling disappears abruptly when he’s standing in front of a busy office building, a tall, imposing skyscraper made completely of tinted glass. He stares up at it blankly, startled when he feels a hand land on his shoulder heavily.

He turns to see a very tall, broad-shouldered man smiling down at him, dressed sharply in a tailored, pinstripe, dark-blue suit.

“Are you lost, friend?” the man asks kindly in thickly-accented English, and something about him sends warning bells ringing in Norton’s mind.

He’s pulled away and out of the man’s grasp before he can think of a response, eyes widening, almost panicking before he realizes that it’s just Dirk.

“He’s fine, he’s with me,” Dirk tells the man, pulling Norton by his side and smiling brightly, his grip on Norton’s wrist almost painfully tight. “Sorry, my brother’s a bit soft in the head, if you know what I mean,” he says, making a ‘what-can-you-do’ face and shrugging. “He tends to wander off on his own. Thanks for your concern!”

The man’s smile drops as he looks between the two of them with an odd expression on his face before he smiles once more, raising his hands. “Of course,” he says. “You must keep close eye on him. Many bad men in city, da? Take advantage of young boys.”

Dirk nods agreeably, backing away and pulling Norton with him. “Yes, yes, thank you for the advice,” Dirk tells him, before turning around and guiding Norton down the short flight of steps that lead from the building’s premises back to the pavement, walking speedily.

Dirk glances over their shoulders back at the man, and Norton does, too, noticing with a shiver that he’s still standing in front of the entrance to the building, watching them intently. It’s not until Dirk’s dragged him a block away and into an alley that Dirk finally lets him go.

“Are you alright, Norton?” Dirk asks, looking panicked.

Norton blinks at him rapidly, confused. Priest, Evans and Todd appear suddenly from behind a dumpster in the alley, joining them.

“Are you _completely_ insane?” Evans splutters at him. “You can’t just waltz up to the building that’s owned by the crazy Russian mobster that wants me dead!”

“Oh,” Norton says breathlessly, eyes widening. “That was him?” He feels light-headed, all of a sudden.

Evans shoots him an unimpressed look. “ _Yes_ , it was,” he says emphatically. “And now he knows what the two of you look like, _fuck_.”

Priest touches Norton’s elbow and Norton looks up at him to see him scowling. “What did you find out?” he asks.

Norton opens his mouth, tries to focus on forming words. It takes a long, almost painful moment for him to finally say, “The sonic screwdriver. It’s in that building.”

\---

Norton only starts feeling like himself again when he, Priest and Dirk return to the hotel later.

Evans had offered to get Todd onto the first flight out to Colorado, and Norton had blankly watched - firmly held in place by Priest after several absent-minded attempts at wandering off - as Dirk and Todd had spent nearly half an hour sharing tearful goodbyes on the street in front of the hotel while Evans waited for Todd in a cab he’d called.

Dirk had been doing most of the crying while Todd had awkwardly tried to comfort him, and they might’ve been there at it longer if the cab driver hadn’t threatened to leave without Todd after his third angry honk, despite Evans offering to pay the man double.

“That was awful,” Norton says in a strained voice as he sits down heavily in the middle of the sofa in the living area.

“Sorry?” Dirk says sheepishly as he flops down onto the sofa, too, on Norton’s left side. “I’ve missed Todd, I just wish he could stay here with us longer.”

Norton shakes his head, scowling, gripping onto his knees tightly. “Not _that_ ,” he grits out. “The stupid _feelings_. The Universe talking to me or whatever it is. It’s _dreadful_.”

Dirk snorts, telling him wryly, “You’ll get used to it.”

Norton’s scowl deepens and he glares hard at nothing in front of him. “What if I don’t _want_ to?” he snaps, aware but uncaring that his tone is bordering on hysterical. “How do you even live like this? It’s terrible and unnatural and _unfair_ and I don’t get a say in any of it!”

“Norton,” Dirk says softly, sad and resigned. Norton feels Dirk moving closer until he’s pressed up against his side, one arm curling around Norton’s waist.

Norton jerks away from him like he’s been burnt, feeling irrationally panicked and cornered.

_Overwhelmed._

“Don’t _touch_ me,” he chokes out, and he grabs at his own chest, feeling something clench disapprovingly in there. Norton makes a strangled sound, wanting so hard to dig his fingers through his skin and rip out whatever it is that’s _inside_ him. Even the Mark hadn’t ever been this intrusive, and Norton _hates_ it.

“Stop telling me what to do!” he growls out and Dirk retorts in a hurt tone, “I didn’t _say_ anything.”

Norton shakes his head jerkily, squeezing his eyes shut and breathing heavily as the feeling in his chest grows more and more painful. “Not _you_ ,” he says breathlessly, his eyes stinging under his closed lids. “It _hurts_ ,” he groans out.

“What does it want, Norton?” he hears Priest ask, and the sofa shifts as he sits down on Norton’s other side.

“I don’t _know_ ,” Norton snaps, eyes flying open and turning to Priest to glare heatedly.

“Yes, you _do_ ,” Priest replies firmly, his blue eyes cool and collected.

“I _don’t_ , alright?” Norton snaps viciously, jumping to his feet. “Just leave me alone!”

Priest grabs his wrist before he can run away, and Norton’s sick of this; sick of being dragged around like a toy, of being manhandled and treated like a child that doesn’t know what’s good for it. He’s so _sick_ and _tired_ of not understanding what’s happening around him and not knowing where the _hell_ he’s going with his life at this point, and when the Committee is finally going to get their hands on him and whether or not he’ll _survive_ what they’ll do to him when they do.

Norton’s so fucking _tired_ of all this holistic bullshit on top of the constant, underlying fear he’s harboring for the Committee, and he does the first thing that comes to mind in that moment, as he stares firmly at Priest with narrowed eyes; he opens his mouth, and just _screams_.

It’s loud, ear-splitting, and full of frustration, and it hurts his throat, but it’s a more welcome pain than the tightness in his chest. Priest looks honest-to-god startled, releasing his wrist, but Norton doesn’t move, just keeps screaming and screaming and screaming until his voice is hoarse, and it’s a lot less loud, but he refuses to stop; it feels _liberating_.

Then Dirk stands up and takes a step towards him and slaps him hard across the face and Norton shuts up abruptly, head turned to the side at the impact, his cheek stinging angrily.

“Stop it,” Dirk says, sounding shaken. “We’re trying to _help you_ , Norton. _We_ are not the enemy here.” Voice softening, Dirk adds, “Didn’t _you_ tell me running away would only make things worse?”

Norton is stunned. The pain in his cheek is nothing compared to the clenching in his chest, but the sheer audacity of Dirk putting a hand on him is flabbergasting. He’d expect it from _Priest_ , but not sweet, pacifistic _Dirk_ , and for some reason, that makes Norton’s eyes tear up.

“I have _nothing_ ,” Norton says raspily, turning his head, but not raising his eyes from the carpeted floor below him. “My family and friends are _dead_ , I’ve lost my job because my employers want _me_ dead, and now I’ve got an invisible, omnipresent _thing_ living _inside_ me, telling me to do things that I _don’t want to do_!”

He takes a step back from Dirk, from Priest, his whole body shaking, his chest still aching badly. He looks up through tear-filled eyes at Dirk, and says haplessly, “I don’t even have any say in what happens with my body. Do you have any idea what the Committee will _do_ to me, when they find me?”

Dirk opens his mouth hesitantly to answer, but Norton cuts him off with a shake of his head, quietly murmuring, “No, Dirk, you _don’t_. You don’t have a single clue, but _I_ do. I _know_ what they’re capable of, the considerable lengths they’re willing to go to to get what they want.

“They’ll lock me in a room, torture me until I break, manipulate me into activating their damned war machine and use me to kill every single human on earth, and when the last of the fires burn out and the smoke finally settles, and they don’t need me anymore, _they’ll kill me, too_.”

“But they _won’t_ get you,” Dirk protests thinly, expression contorted in pain. “I won’t let them, the _Universe_ won’t let them!”

“The Universe doesn’t _fucking_ care!” Norton snaps back, sneering. “It’ll stop me, somehow, probably one of you will have to kill me when the machine starts picking people off like flies, and that’s only the best case scenario. But I’ll still lose, won’t I? Even if I survive that, what happens to me? Hah, broken mind, broken body? I’d _rather_ be dead.”

“You don’t _mean_ that,” Dirk says fiercely, eyes flashing, his expression becoming frantic. “You _don’t_ want to die!”

“It’s better than the alternative!” Norton yells at him, regretting it immediately when Dirk flinches away from him like _he’s_ the one that had been slapped, but he can’t stop now, he can’t hold back how awful he’s feeling, and a part of him feels vindictive satisfaction at hurting the man, and he adds bitterly, “What else have I got to lose?”

“ _Us_ ,” Dirk tells him, looking helplessly over at Priest. “We’re yours, just as much as you’re ours. If you’d died-” Dirk chokes before he can finish what he’s saying, eyes tearing up rapidly. He swallows loudly, and then says, quieter than a whisper, “You’re not _alone_ , Norton. Not anymore. _Let us help you_. Please.”

Norton stares at him blearily in response. Dirk waits patiently, and so does Priest, surprisingly. None of them say anything in the silence that’s ensued Dirk’s plea, and then Norton closes his eyes, breathing in deeply.

“Have I got a choice?” he murmurs with resignation, and he finds himself being enveloped in a warm, tight hug; Dirk’s clutching onto him like his life depends on it, and Norton almost laughs out loud at the irony.

“You _always_ have a choice,” Dirk says into his ear, his lips quivering against Norton’s skin. “But right now, we’re the best one you’ve got.”

Norton huffs out a bitter chuckle, hugging Dirk back around the waist. “I told you you were stronger than me,” he breathes out, burying his face into Dirk’s shoulder.

“I think we’re both very much tied in that department,” Dirk says reasonably, patting his back gently. “And in my defense, I had Mr. Priest to pull my head out of my bum whenever I needed it back at Blackwing.”

“Doubt it was just your head in your bum at the time, too,” Norton says dryly and Dirk tenses up against him with a gasp, scandalized.

“We never did anything until I was _sixteen_ ,” Dirk says defensively, pulling away from him and giving him an appalled look when Norton opens his eyes. “And it was _just_ the one time!”

Norton raises a brow at him, skeptical. “Was it really?” he asks, mildly impressed. “I’m surprised, I’d have thrown myself at him a few times before that.”

Dirk scrunches up his nose at that, seemingly thinking about it. “Well, Scott was very careful about that sort of thing,” he says seriously. “We’d kissed when I was fourteen, and he banned me from seeing Mr. Priest for a _month_ when he found out. It was _awful_.”

“Scott?” Norton echoes, and Dirk shrugs. “He was Supervisor at Blackwing back then,” he explains. With a thoughtful look on his face, he adds, “He was sort of like a father to me, but really, he’s actually Mr. Priest’s-”

He stops speaking, then, suddenly, and looks around with confusion. “Where did Mr. Priest go?” he wonders, and Norton looks as well, realizing that the man is indeed nowhere to be seen.

“Scared him away, most likely,” Norton mutters darkly to himself, but Dirk hears him and shoots him a dirty look, to which Norton defensively says, “Hysteria is _hardly_ attractive.”

“Mr. Priest isn’t like that,” Dirk tells him, moving along the sofa and towards the master bedroom. “You could be trying to kill him and he’d still love you. Or rather, he’d love you _more_ for it. He’s got a very peculiar taste in people.”

“Doesn’t he just,” Norton remarks dryly, following behind him.

Priest isn’t in the bedroom, in fact, and the two of them share a look before going back out to the living area. Dirk goes up a flight of stairs to the side that Norton hadn’t really noticed before, and Norton follows him again, marvelling when they enter an open-air area with what could only be the impressive jacuzzi Dirk had been showing off to Todd the previous night.

Priest is standing at the far end of the place, leaning against the railing and talking into his phone with someone. He hangs up as they approach him, looking at Norton passively.

“Got that out of your system?” he asks casually, and Norton sighs.

“Let’s not talk about it right now,” he says sullenly. “Or ever. Yes, never speak of what happened, ever, and I promise I’ll try not to let it happen again.”

One corner of Priest’s lips lift up in a crooked, wry smile, before his expression becomes serious. “Evans called,” he says. “He was attacked on the way back from the airport, after Brotzman boarded his plane.”

“Well, where is he now?” Dirk asks, concerned.

“A couple of blocks away from us, he’ll get here in fifteen minutes,” Priest answers before frowning. “They weren’t tryin’ to kill him,” he adds. “They told him they’d stop sendin’ assassins after him if he brought them ‘Dirk Gently’.”

Dirk makes a choked sound at that, looking astonished. “Why do they even know _my_ name?” he asks, exasperated.

“The Universe,” Norton tells him, ironically, and Dirk shoots him a flat look in response.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hiiii.
> 
> 1- Not really mentioned in the chapter, but Evans used a spell he got from another Project who will not appear yet to suppress the Mark. Psst; she's a witch.
> 
> 2- I'm sorry about the smex, because my headcanon is that Priest and Norton like to have very aggressive foreplay, I apologize if that freaked anyone out. That scene is very, very consensual, though.
> 
> 3- Also, Norton insisted that I tell everyone that he usually lasts longer, but it's been an awfully long time since he's had sex and Dirk and Priest are super fucking hot so you can't blame him.
> 
> 4- Norton's holistic powers are revealed! Not really. Again, it's not mentioned, buuuuut, that's not the Universe talking to him, despite what everyone thinks... Just keep that in mind. You'll probably see the plot twist before I do.
> 
> 5- Somehow, more Dr Who/Torchwood shit got inside when I blinked, because Norton's baggage just got a heck of a lot more heavy. I am digging a deep hole for myself, I just wanted to share that. Anyway, I don't know how to explain the sonic screwdriver without being very wrong and likely very inaccurate, so I would recommend Googling it instead. Or, you know, just ignore it. It's just a convenient MacGuffin.
> 
> 6- Todd leaves and he won't come back until they all go to Colorado, sorry.


	11. Miss anything?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> KISSING, although, very brief. Norton's emotions are still all over the place, but Dirk has a little episode, too, and Norton makes it better. How the the tables have turned! There's also implied/mentioned child abuse/neglect, aka, Dirk's time as a Project at Blackwing (nothing detailed, though).

“If the mob is tailing you, how do you know they won’t come following you _here_?” is the first thing Norton asks when Evans steps into the penthouse from the elevator.

He’s sitting at the counter in the kitchenette, Dirk by his side and nibbling on a piece of pretzel he’d ordered from room service.

Priest had gone to sleep, and Norton had been apprehensive about that, but it’s not like any of them have a choice in the matter. Priest has been awake for _seven_ days already - which had pissed Norton off when he’d found out; he’d have forced the man to sleep earlier if he’d known before - and he’s going to be out for the next one or two. Norton hates it, feeling like they’re all exposed without the man by their side, but again; they don’t really have much of a choice.

Evans strides over, taking a seat across from them nonchalantly. “I’m good at losing them,” he says, shrugging.

“Oh, so I suppose the warehouse was just a lucky break?” Norton asks, raising a brow skeptically.

Evans rolls his eyes. “ _Fine_ , that was my bad,” he admits grudgingly. “I didn’t think they’d risk attacking me in broad daylight, so I wasn’t really that careful about the meeting.”

“And again, the trunk thing,” Norton snaps. “ _Completely_ unnecessary. And what about the airport?”

Evans groans out in frustration, running a hand over his face. “Alright, I get it, okay? Jesus. But I can give you my word that they didn’t follow me _here_ ,” he says. “I _made sure_.”

Norton eyes him flatly, and Evans groans again. “I _checked_ , alright?” he says exasperatedly. “I was _careful_. And I paid the hotel to make sure no Russian gets in or out without me knowing.”

Norton’s still not satisfied, but Dirk cuts in between them before he can ask Evans anymore questions. “Did they really mention me by name?” Dirk asks, putting his half-eaten pretzel down and looking at Evans nervously.

Evans shrugs. “‘You bring Dirk Gently, or next time, _you_ die’,” he says in a terrible imitation of a Russian accent. “Way I figure, they’ve got someone feeding them info about you, and it’s not me.”

Dirk swallows loudly at that, glancing at Norton. “I’ve been told there are people after me,” he says to Evans. “You haven’t happened to have seen anyone with black collar tattoos around their necks recently, have you?”

Evans’s brows furrow as he thinks about it. “Well, now that you mention it,” he says, rubbing at his chin thoughtfully. “There’s been _rumours_ flying around town.”

“What rumours?” Norton asks impatiently.

Evans gives him an annoyed look before answering slowly, “Word on the ground is there’s a new gang stepping on the Tongs’ territory in Chinatown. Tongs weren’t happy, I can tell you that, but whoever they are, they’re _ruthless_. Picked Tongs off the streets one by one, and the ones that don’t die? All went crazy, talking about demons and black magic.”

Dirk makes a sound at that, looking more curious than nervous now. “Do members of this new gang have the tattoos?” he asks.

Evans nods grimly. “It’s the only thing the survivors ever said that didn’t sound like they’d been drugged up to the eyes when the attacks happened,” he says. “See, the weird thing is, they haven’t _done_ anything. They just came one day about a couple of weeks ago and stayed, but they’re not selling, dealing or robbing. It’s got the other gangs and families all on edge. Any attempt at contacting them just ends in more dead bodies.”

“Whoever they are, we’ve met two of them, and I completely understand what your gangster friends are so terrified of,” Norton says sourly. “Their bite is twice as bad as their bark, and they’re after Dirk.”

Evans actually looks impressed, then, whistling lowly. “Aren’t you popular,” he jokes, grinning at Dirk.

Dirk makes a face, shuddering. “I think I preferred the aliens,” he says apprehensively.

“Is it possible your Russian nemesis is working together with this new gang?” Norton asks, scowling. “I can’t imagine there could be any other reason they’re suddenly changing their tune about killing you in exchange for Dirk.”

Evans looks thoughtful again. “Maybe,” he says, eyes narrowing. “They’ve been acting really shady lately, or, well, _shadier_ than usual.” A grim look settles back over his features as he adds, “Ever since they got the sonic screwdriver. Which is also about the same time that new gang started coming up in dinner conversations.”

“So, new gang comes in, all of them connected to the Universe in some way or another, and all of them looking for _me_ ,” Dirk says slowly, brows furrowing. “They give the Russian mob a sonic screwdriver to play with, and in exchange, they help them find me?”

He sounds less and less sure as he speaks, and makes a frustrated sound before dropping his head down on the counter, narrowly missing his abandoned pretzel. Letting out a long, muffled sigh, he says, “We’re still missing something.”

Norton pats his back comfortingly. “Take a break, love,” he tells Dirk gently. “We’ll come up with a plan that won’t get either you or Evans killed, but not until Priest wakes up.”

“Priest is actually _sleeping_?” Evans asks, perking up interestedly. “I thought he ran on cruelty.”

Norton shoots him an unamused look. “Yes, very good, very funny,” he says in a deadpan. “Ha, and again, _ha_. You should star in your own show, petal.”

Evans smirks at him. “Since Priest is out of commission, why don’t _you_ give me a show, sweetheart?” he says flirtatiously.

Norton’s look quickly becomes irritated. “Not even if you were the last cock on earth,” he says flatly. “Didn’t you say I wasn’t your ‘type’, anyway?”

Evans shrugs. “Don’t play coy, you know I was lying,” he says easily. “I like to think of myself as an opportunist, and I’ve heard that you’re _everyone’s_ type.”

“Oh, you smooth bastard,” Norton says, raising a brow at him. “But still, _no_. What kind of a tart do you take me for?” Making a face, he says, “Actually, wait, _don’t_ answer that. I’m tempted enough to shoot you in the balls right now. _Please_ don’t give me more reason to.”

Evans raises his hands appeasingly, shaking his head. “Just putting the offer out there,” he says, blaise. “I’m gonna be stuck with you guys for the foreseeable future. Might as well make the best of it.”

Dirk straightens back up then, so suddenly that Norton startles next to him. “He’s not _yours_ ,” he says vehemently, glaring at Evans. “And he said _no_ , so stop asking. And stop _thinking_ about it.”

Evans looks unreasonably amused at how fiercely he says that, while Norton’s just surprised, and then Dirk slips off his stool, pulling Norton along with him.

“There’s clothes you can use in the other room,” Dirk says curtly at Evans as he starts dragging Norton towards the master bedroom. “You can order room service if you’re hungry. Don’t look for us unless someone’s _dying_.”

“Dirk, what’s wrong?” Norton asks him worriedly when Dirk pushes him into their room and slams the door behind him almost viciously. It’s still broken, but the force with which Dirk had shut it has got it stuck closed into the frame, anyway. “Are you getting a feeling, love?”

Dirk doesn’t answer him, and when he turns to face Norton, he looks _angry_ , which is so jarring that Norton’s stunned speechless. He’s never seen him like this before, and Norton’s so utterly confused that he doesn’t immediately react when Dirk’s grabbing him by the arms and pulling him close, crashing their lips together.

It takes an embarrassingly long moment for Norton’s brain to catch up to what’s happening, and by then, Dirk’s pushing him backwards until the backs of Norton’s knees hit the bed behind them, and they fall over onto it, fortunately missing Priest’s sleeping form to the right. Dirk’s lips are almost desperately forceful, and Norton kisses him back without thinking, opening his mouth so that their tongues can meet, and Dirk tastes sweet and slightly salty, like the pretzel he’d been eating.

They run out of breath too soon, and Dirk breaks the kiss with a gasp, staring down at Norton with wide eyes, his cheeks flushed and his pupils blown wide.

Norton spreads his legs to wrap them around Dirk’s waist, grabbing the front of the other man’s shirt and pulling him down closer against him, and Dirk squeaks as he bends lower, his hands scrambling for purchase on the bed on either side of Norton’s shoulders.

“Priest was right,” Norton says breathlessly and Dirk’s brows scrunch up in confusion.

“What?” he pants quietly, baffled.

“You _are_ bad at sharing,” Norton huffs out, chuckling.

Dirk scoffs, looking affronted. “He wanted to _do_ things to you,” he says with a glare. “ _You_ said no.”

“Were you preserving my _dignity_ , Dirk Gently?” Norton says sarcastically, rolling his eyes. “My _hero_.”

Norton gasps when Dirk drops onto him suddenly, his whole weight pressing down on Norton as he buries his face against Norton’s chest and wraps his arms around Norton’s waist.

“You said _no_ ,” Dirk insists, his voice muffled against Norton’s shirt.

Norton looks down at his head contemplatively, and sighs, hugging the other man by the shoulders and running his fingers through the hair on the back of Dirk’s head.

“He was kidding,” Norton says reasonably, and Dirk scoffs against him.

“Believe me, he _wasn’t_ ,” he says in a disgusted tone, and Norton tugs at a handful of his hair warningly. “ _Ow_!”

“I can handle myself, you know,” Norton says, frowning. “Men like him are a commodity. And I’ve met worse in the 50’s.”

“I _know_ you can,” Dirk says, sounding frustrated. He shifts them both until they’re lying down on their sides, facing each other, and he looks at Norton seriously. “It doesn’t mean that you _have_ to,” he tells him, pouting.

Norton purses his lips, eyes narrowing. “I’m sure I don’t need to tell you that I’m no virtuous fair maiden in need of a dashing knight to save her,” he says, tone hard and terse, and Dirk flinches guiltily.

“Of course not,” he says defensively, his arms around Norton’s waist tightening. “I just- who you were, before, that doesn’t have to be you _now_ ,” he says, looking like he’s struggling to find the right words to say. “Someone told me we can’t change the past, but we can make better futures. Can’t we?”

Norton feels something clenching in his chest, a feeling that has nothing to do with the Universe. “Dirk,” he says, softening.

Dirk shakes his head rapidly, eyes closing. “No, don’t,” he says quietly. “I know it sounds stupid, and childish, but- can we just pretend? Just for a little bit.” Quieter, he adds, “Just for now.”

Norton sighs, pulling Dirk closer and tucking his head under his chin as he wraps his arms firmly around Dirk’s shoulders. “Whatever you want, love,” he murmurs into his hair, and pretends he can’t feel the other man sniffing silently against his collar.

\---

 _Norton’s sitting in a small room, drab and grey, and the only thing in there is a narrow bed with stark white sheets. He feels different - smaller and_ younger _\- and then the door opens before he can figure out what’s going on, and a familiar man walks in._

 _“Mornin’, Svlad,” Priest says, except Priest is_ different _, too. He definitely looks like a teenager, and he doesn’t have the scar down his face. He also looks the least terrifying Norton’s ever seen him. He almost looks_ friendly _._

 _“Good morning Oz!” Norton hears himself saying, and it’s not his voice; it’s_ Dirk’s _. “Your mission went well, didn’t it? Was the goat where I said it would be?”_

_Priest chuckles, sitting down on the bed next to Norton - no, Dirk, and Dirk shifts until he’s sitting cross-legged in the middle of it, facing the man._

_“It was,” Priest says, reaching a hand out to ruffle Dirk’s hair fondly, and Dirk grumbles good-naturedly. “You did good, kid. How have your tests been?”_

_Dirk deflates at the mention of them, his shoulders hunching as he sighs loudly. “Failed them,” he says miserably. “_ Again _.”_

_Priest chuckles, bopping Dirk on the nose. “Hey, told you; you just gotta try harder,” he says._

_Dirk rolls his eyes at him. “It’s not working,” he whines. “Can’t you just tell Uncle Scott to let me come with you to missions?” Dirk looks up at Priest pleadingly, saying, “I swear I’ll listen, and I won’t wander off, not even if the Universe told me to.”_

_Priest gives him a disapproving look, shaking his head. “You’re_ twelve _, Svlad. You know the missions can get dangerous,” he says._

 _“But_ you’ll _be there with me!” Dirk argues. “I know you won’t let anything happen to me.”_

_It’s Priest’s turn to roll his eyes. “I’m not a babysitter, Svlad,” he says. “Besides, you know you can’t go out ‘til you start passin’ your dang tests.”_

_Dirk deflates again, flopping onto his back on the bed. “I don’t_ feel _anything with the tests, though,” he says unhappily._

_“You get hunches about the mission parameters I show you,” Priest points out, and Dirk scoffs._

_“That’s because it’s_ you _,” he says obviously. “Universe likes you a lot, doesn’t it?”_

_Priest giggles, poking at Dirk’s waist, and Dirk rolls over to get away from him because that tickles. “Universe knows my job, doesn’t it?” he shoots back. “Anyway, I’ve got three hours before I have to get back to trainin’. What d’you wanna do?”_

_Dirk perks up then, jumping off the bed and spreading his arms out. “Let’s play the Lying Game!” he says excitedly._

_Priest smiles at him, warm and affectionate. “Alright,” he agrees. “But if I catch you cheatin’ again, I’m beatin’ your ass black and blue.”_

_Dirk pretends to be offended, even though he feels sheepish about it. “I don’t cheat,” he says._

_“It’s cheatin’ if you ask the Universe for help,” Priest reasons._

_“What if the Universe_ offers _to help, though?” Dirk argues. “It’s not like I can tell it to shut up.”_

_Priest rolls his eyes. “Ask the Universe to help with your tests, instead,” he suggests wryly._

_“It won’t listen to me, anyway,” Dirk says, rolling his eyes. “So, are we playing or not? Or are you too chicken to lose to a twelve-year-old?”_

_Priest’s eyes flash at that, but his expression is thoroughly amused. “Ain’t nobody scared of a scrawny little kid like you, Svlad,” he says and Dirk smirks at him._

_“Then let’s play!”_

\---

The room is completely bathed in darkness when Norton wakes up.

It takes a moment for him to realize that he’s not _Dirk_ , that he’s back in the penthouse with Priest sleeping soundly to his left, and Dirk - the _real_ , adult Dirk - on his right. Norton blinks the dream away and sits up slowly, shaking his head. He feels more tired than before he’d fallen asleep, and he pulls his arm out of Dirk’s sleepy hold to rub at his eyes. Dirk stirs next to him, and Norton’s eyes adjust to the lack of light, enough to make out the other man blinking blearily up at him.

“Norton?” Dirk yawns, pushing himself up from the bed. “What time is it?”

“Not a clue,” Norton says distractedly, still thinking of the weird dream he’d just had. “Dirk, how _old_ were you when Blackwing took you?” he asks.

Dirk frowns, squinting at him in the dark. “I don’t know?” he says with uncertainty. “Nine? Maybe. I’m not entirely sure how old I am _now_. I know I was sixteen when I escaped, Scott said so. I only know how old I am if anyone else tells me, to be honest.”

Norton feels cold at the confirmation, and he swallows back the anger he feels at this new found knowledge, the indignation at learning that Blackwing had taken this man as a _child_ , and never stopped treating him like a _novelty_ , even now; something to simply take and use.

“I just,” he starts, pausing to calm himself down. “I just had a dream about you,” he tells Dirk quietly.

Dirk’s expression becomes confused. “What about?” he asks. “Was it something bad?”

Norton shakes his head. “It was a memory, I think,” he says. “You were twelve.”

Dirk’s eyes widen and he gapes at him. “Was Mr. Priest there?” he asks, voice shaky. “Did he- the goat? He came back from the goat mission?”

It’s Norton’s turn to be confused. “Were _you_ dreaming about that?” he asks disbelievingly.

Dirk nods rapidly, looking awed. “That’s weird,” he says. “I haven’t- I’ve never dream-shared before!”

“Neither have I,” Norton says, watching bemusedly as Dirk starts vibrating with excitement.

“How was it?” he asks eagerly, shifting closer on his knees until their noses are almost touching. “How much did you see? _How_ did you see? Were you there? I don’t remember seeing you, but perhaps you were invisible? Like a dream-ghost thing?”

“Calm down, love,” Norton says, laughing when their foreheads knock together gently as Dirk loses his balance and falls into his lap. “I was _you_ , I suppose. I was there, as you. And I woke up when you were about to play a game.”

Dirk pushes himself back up, using Norton’s thigh as support, and says, “That’s all I dreamt, too! I wonder what that means?”

“That hopefully it doesn’t happen again,” Norton replies dryly. “Can’t imagine the horror if we both had the same nightmare while we slept.”

Dirk makes a face at that, scowling. “I don’t have nightmares anymore,” he says, sounding almost defensive.

Norton shakes his head, smiling grimly. “It’s not _your_ nightmares I’m worried about,” he says.

Dirk’s scowl disappears, and he looks pained instead, his fingers digging into Norton’s thigh. “I could take it,” he says bravely. “I wouldn’t- that doesn’t scare me.”

“It _should_ ,” Norton tells him in a dark tone.

They both jump when there’s a loud thudding sound - followed by glass breaking - coming from outside the door to the room, and Norton slides down and out of the bed cautiously, going over to the closet to take a gun out of one of Priest’s bags. Dirk’s watching him, eyes wide with apprehension.

Norton puts a finger to his lips as he shoots him a warning look, creeping silently towards the door.

“Stay with Priest,” he mouths at Dirk, and Dirk frowns but nods jerkily.

Norton tugs the door free of the frame firmly, pulling it open slightly and keeping his back to the wall next to it as he peeks out between the gap. The living area is dark, dimly lit by faint lights filtering in from the windows. There’s nothing out there, nothing that Norton can see, anyway, but he’s got a niggling feeling in the back of his mind, the tinny voice from before telling him that someone’s out there.

He steps outside and pulls the door closed behind him, eyes scanning the area as he goes over to the kitchenette. There’s nothing behind the island, either, and Norton’s about to go check the other side of the room when the lights switch on suddenly, and Norton instinctively turns and aims his gun towards where the switches are next to the elevator.

It’s a stranger, an unkempt man in a shirt and a hooded jacket, and he looks startled to see Norton there.

“Whoa!” he says, raising his hands as he eyes Norton’s gun.

“Who’re you?” Norton demands, clicking the safety off. “And mind you, petal, if I don’t like your answer, I’m shooting.”

“Wait, wait,” the man says hastily, “I’m a friend of Priest’s, okay? Don’t shoot!”

Norton raises a brow at him, saying, “Priest doesn’t _have_ friends.”

He’s shocked when he hears a loud, drunken laugh coming from somewhere near the fireplace, on the other side of the room, and he sees Evans unsteadily climbing to his feet, one hand clutching at a broken lamp.

“T-tha’s wh-what I told him, too!” Evans slurs, wiggling a finger in Norton’s direction. “You- _You_ are good.”

“And _you’re_ drunk,” Norton sneers at him disgustedly. “What’s the matter with you, you’ve got a _mob_ after you, and you’re drinking yourself into oblivion?”

Evans shrugs, tossing the lamp to the side carelessly. “I was- I got bored,” he says, scrunching his brows like he’s trying hard to think. “Th-thought it migh’ make me fe-feel better?”

“I found him in the bar down the street,” the stranger pipes in, and Norton looks over at him sharply, his aim steadying back on the man. “Whoa, okay, can we just get rid of the gun first? I’m not armed!”

Norton narrows his eyes at him, mistrustful. “Prove it,” he says.

The man pulls his jacket off without hesitation, shaking it in one hand and lifting the shirt he’s wearing with his other hand to reveal his undershirt, which is tight enough that there’s really no way he’s concealing any weapons.

“See?” he says calmly. “Nothing, okay? Can I just talk to Priest? Or Dirk? They know me, if you can’t trust me, trust them.”

Norton’s about to tell him to shove his trust where the sun doesn’t shine when Evans collapses suddenly across the coffee table with a loud thump, distracting him momentarily, and then the door to the master bedroom bursts open and Dirk’s rushing out frantically.

“Norton!” he cries out, looking immensely relieved when he sees him behind the island counter.

“I told you to stay with Priest,” Norton says exasperatedly to him and Dirk scoffs.

“It’s not like he’s any use as it is,” he points out. “What’s he going to do if someone _did_ come in and attacked us? _Snore_ at them? Hah.”

“Dirk!” the stranger says happily, and Dirk’s attention shifts to him. Dirk grins brightly when he sees him. “Lucas!” he says. “How did you know we were here?”

Lucas grins back, pointing vaguely in Evan’s direction. “Found him harassing the bartender at the bar down the street,” he says with amusement. “Guy looked like he was about to punch him, but Sam was still trying to get into his pants.”

“Sounds like him,” Norton mutters derisively, rolling his eyes as he clicks the gun’s safety back on before striding over to Evans’s prone form on the table. He prods him in the shoulder with the gun, grumbling, “Wake up, you idiot.”

“He told me he was staying with you guys because someone’s trying to kill him,” he hears Lucas explain to Dirk. “Luckily, the bar’s not that far.”

“Well, thank you for your help,” Dirk tells Lucas. “We can handle it from here.”

Evans groans loudly when Norton pokes him again, decidedly more viciously than before. “Get off the table,” Norton snaps down at him irritably.

He yelps when Evans rolls over and off the table, only to land in a ball on Norton’s feet, miserably moaning, “Your feet are _cold_.”

“Why you-” Norton starts, struggling to step out from under the man’s weight, but then Evans uncurls and wraps his arms around his legs instead, and Norton stumbles, fortunately landing on his ass on the sofa next to them. “Let go of me!” he demands, wriggling to free himself from Evans’s hold.

“On second thought,” he hears Dirk say, and then Lucas and him are there, pulling at Evans and prying his arms off from around Norton’s calves.

“C’mon, Sammy, time for bed,” Lucas grunts down at Evans, who groans in response as he’s successfully extracted from a fuming Norton.

“I’m not tired,” he whines, making grabby hands at Norton as Dirk and Lucas haul him to his feet by his arms.

“Norton’s tired of _you_ ,” Dirk informs him helpfully. “I can’t promise I’ll try very hard to stop him if he decides to shoot you.”

Lucas nods at Dirk, saying, “Just point me where you want him, I’ll get him there.”

Dirk gestures towards the guest bedroom before ducking out from under Evans’s arm, and Lucas hefts Evans’s other arm higher over his own shoulders with ease and drags him towards the room.

“That man’s a nuisance,” Norton says irritably as he scowls after Lucas and Evans.

“He’s harmless,” Dirk says immediately, to which Norton responds with an unimpressed stare.

“That’s not what you were saying earlier,” he says flatly, and Dirk flusters.

“Yes, well, opinions can change, can’t they?” he says, looking simultaneously embarrassed and defensive. “I think perspectives may vary depending on the situation at hand, and it’s only fair that we give everyone the benefit of the doubt.”

“Aren’t you feeling magnanimous tonight,” Norton remarks wryly. “Tell me, love, is this change of heart out of your own generosity or the Universe telling you something?”

Dirk shrugs with a sheepish smile. “Bit of both?” he says weakly. “Sam brought Lucas here. I think he’s supposed to help us.”

“Uh-huh,” Norton says, smiling sharply. “It doesn’t mean I have to like him,” he adds with a delicate sniff.

Dirk waves a hand in the air dismissively. “Don’t need to,” he says easily, before adding with a teasing grin, “Sam likes _you_ enough, don’t you think?”

Norton gasps, scandalized. “Dirk Gently, are you being _cheeky_ with me?” he demands, feigning offense.

Dirk’s grin widens and Norton swipes at him with a hand, except Dirk skips away quickly so Norton misses him. Lucas comes back out from the guest bedroom just then, hovering a few feet away from the sofa.

“Uh, I guess I’ll just go now?” he says with uncertainty, glancing between Dirk and Norton.

Dirk flaps his hands in the air, quickly saying, “No, no! Actually, please stay! I think we need your help with something. No, actually, I’m _sure_ we do!”

Lucas smiles, nodding, looking pleased for some reason. “I don’t have anything on my plate right now, so, fill me in,” he says, walking over and standing next to Dirk.

“Alright,” Dirk starts eagerly, face bright and gleeful at the prospect of explaining what’s happening. “You see, the Russian mob has a bounty out on Samuel, on account of him attempting and _failing_ \- quite miserably, I might add - to blackmail them for an alien weapon called a ‘sonic screwdriver’, and he hired me some days ago to help with that. Of course, at the time, I had _no idea_ he was the one that had hired me. Meanwhile, we - Mr. Priest, Norton and I - were attacked outside of Oregon by a Blackwing Project working for a shady, and as at yet _unknown_ organization that apparently has designs to capture me for also as at yet _unknown_ reasons, and it’s recently come to light that this organisation has been mucking about in one of New York’s Chinese gangster territories and are causing _quite_ the fuss among the other gangsters.

“On top of that, we’ve also reason to believe that this organisation may be the ones that had given the sonic screwdriver to the Russians in the first place, because now the Russians claim that they will spare Samuel’s life in exchange for _me_ and I’ve got no clue why they would even know my name, let alone _want_ me, since I’m no expert at mob dealings.”

Dirk stops talking for a moment to look at Norton. “Did I miss anything?” he asks with a tilt of his head.

Norton shakes his head, smiling with amusement because Lucas looks like he hadn’t understood a word Dirk had just said.

“Ah,” Norton says, “There is the small matter of me having an alien artefact inside me that some very bad people would kill to get their hands on, which Evans is supposed to help us get rid of.”

Lucas glances at him skeptically, eyes wide and jaw slack. “Right,” he says blankly, looking back at Dirk. “Could you maybe repeat all that, in point form, preferably?” he asks. “And break down the alien bits, too, if it’s not too much trouble.”

The sun’s risen by the time they finally manage to explain to Lucas everything that’s happened since they’d left Oregon, and what’s happening now, sitting together on the floor in front of the fireplace. Lucas, to his credit, catches on quickly, despite Dirk’s over enthusiastic and embellished version of events, and by the time Norton glances over at the clock on the wall over the fireplace - 8.34 am - he’s already throwing out his own ideas and theories for what’s going on.

“A few months ago, a Blackwing Project popped into my office out of the blue,” he tells them, looking wary. “I didn’t think anything of it, you know? She wasn’t looking for trouble, but she was asking me some pretty weird shit.”

“Weird how?” Dirk asks him.

“One of the questions was what I thought of living in a world where everyone is part of the Universe,” he says, frowning. “It sounded like some Aryan, white supremacist crap, you know? That kind of vibe. And then she told me the Universe chose us as its ‘disciples’ because we’re the evolved species, or some weird crap like that. She asked me to join something called the Circle, but I said no and showed her to the door. But I had a feeling I’d meet her again.”

“The Circle?” Norton repeats, touching a hand to his neck. “This organisation that’s after Dirk, the ones we met had tattoos around their necks, like collars. Black _circles_.”

“The Project that came to see me had it, too,” Lucas says, looking disturbed. “Shit.”

“The Project,” Dirk says, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees where he’s sitting cross-legged next to Norton. “What was her name?”

Lucas’s brows furrow as he tries to remember, snapping his fingers when he does. “Blackwing called her Project Echidna,” he says, “But she introduced herself as Ingres Lith.”

Dirk hums, crossing his arms over his chest, his eyes glazing over as he stares off into the distance, lost in his thoughts.

“You said they asked for Dirk,” Lucas says, and Norton nods in affirmation. ”But we don’t know why.” He pauses, hesitating before saying, “Maybe we can give them Norton and find out.”

Dirk snaps out of his thoughts immediately, eyes widening and shaking his head furiously. “Absolutely _not_ , that’s the worst idea I’ve ever heard, Lucas, and believe me, I’ve had quite a few,” he disagrees vehemently.

Lucas raises his hands defensively in front of him. “Sorry, I’m just _saying_ ,” he says, glancing over at Norton. “Norton knows how to fight, right? You said you worked for Torchwood? So, you know what it’s like, going under cover?”

Norton knows where he’s going with his idea already, and it’s something Norton had already considered. Except, a part of him is cowardly and selfish enough that he hadn’t wanted to say it out loud, and a part of him is grateful now that Lucas is doing it for him.

“I’ve done it once or twice,” he says in a level tone, ignoring it when Dirk makes a disagreeing sound next to him. “You’re right; if we don’t give them something, we won’t know what they’re after, but letting them have Dirk is too big of a risk.”

“And giving them _you_ isn’t?” Dirk demands. “What makes you so sure they won’t just kill you when they find out we duped them?”

Norton gives him a warning look. “We don’t, but what makes you so sure they don’t just want you to kill you?” he snaps back, and Dirk purses his lips at that. “Besides, chances are, the Russian mob don’t know anything about you other than your name and your face, so if we’re lucky, they wouldn’t know the difference, anyway. But if I can get into their building and get access to a computer, I could hack into their system and find out what’s going on between them and this Circle lot. And if we’re _very_ lucky, I might even find the sonic screwdriver, too.”

“You can hack?” Lucas asks, sounding impressed.

“Not just a pretty face, sweetheart,” Norton scoffs. “I’ve picked up a thing or two over the years. It pays to have multiple skills, with Torchwood.”

“I wasn’t implying anything,” Lucas says sheepishly.

Norton waves his apology away. “It pays to be underestimated, too,” he says simply.

“Strength in perceived weakness,” Lucas acknowledges with a nod.

“While that’s all fine and great,” Dirk cuts in with annoyance, “I still don’t think it’s a good idea. What if something happened to you?”

Norton rolls his eyes. “ _Not_ a damsel in distress, Dirk,” he reminds him with a glare. “Unless you’ve got any better plans, this is our best shot at getting anywhere.”

Dirk looks cowed at his tone, but he still looks upset about the plan. “Mr. Priest won’t agree,” he says weakly.

“Well, he’s not my keeper, is he?” Norton snaps, now very annoyed. “It’s my choice to make, not his.” Dirk opens his mouth to say something else, but Norton cuts him off. “What does your Universe have to say about it, Dirk? Because it’s telling _me_ that you’re not in any position to be picky about your options.” Which is a lie; the feeling in his chest has been suspiciously absent since Norton had woken up, but Dirk doesn’t need to know that.

Fortunately for Norton, his bluff seems to work in his favour, because Dirk pales before an expression of resignation settles on his face.

Looking away, he mutters, “It’s our best option, I guess.”

Something painful clenches in Norton’s gut, but he ignores it, huffing out a smug, “Thought so.”

“So, I guess we need to go buy some hair dye?” Lucas says then, looking at Norton. “Doesn’t hurt to be careful with the details.”

—-

Lucas goes out to buy the hair dye, leaving Norton and Dirk alone in a heavy, uncomfortable silence. Norton had ordered room service for breakfast, but even the prospect of food doesn’t cheer Dirk up.

He’d gone out to sit in one of the lounge chairs on the balcony some time after Lucas had left, and Norton had still been fuming about him trying to use Priest as an excuse for Norton to not agree to the plan to make any effort to comfort him. Half an hour later, though, Dirk’s still sitting out there, alone and pensive, and Norton eventually gives in to his guilt and goes outside to join him.

“I’ve been on more dangerous missions, you know,” Norton tells him as he approaches his chair. Dirk’s sitting right on the end of it, gripping tightly to the edge and staring over the balcony’s railing with a distant look in his eyes.

“I know,” Dirk says softly after a long moment.

Norton takes that as an invitation, and goes to sit down next to him, keeping an inch of distance between them.

“And I’ve survived all of them,” Norton continues.

“I know,” Dirk repeats monotonously.

“I’ve had to sleep with some very unsavoury characters in some cases, but everything turned out fine in the end,” Norton adds, glancing sideways at him.

Dirk winces, but doesn’t look at him. “I know,” he says, quieter.

“One of them was an alien with multiple cocks,” Norton says offhandedly.

Dirk finally turns to look at him, his eyes wide and his mouth dropping open comically. “That’s- that can’t be true,” he says disbelievingly.

Norton smiles wryly. “It was one of the more fun experiences, actually,” he says seriously. “Best sex I ever had.”

Dirk makes a face, his brows furrowing in a deep scowl. “You’re pulling my leg, aren’t you?” he says, narrowing his eyes suspiciously. “You’re lying, I’m not that gullible, Norton.”

Norton’s smile broadens. “Had you for a minute there, though, didn’t I?” he teases before sighing wistfully. “Yes, I’m not that lucky. Aliens in Torchwood aren’t nearly as exotic as the ones in Japanese literature.”

Dirk makes another face, then, but it passes quickly and he sighs, looking away. “I’m sorry,” he says suddenly, shoulders hunching up to his ears.

Norton raises a brow quizzically. “For?” he asks. “Being a patronizing bastard or a complete idiot? I need to know whether I’m inclined to accept your apology or not.”

Dirk winces, shrinking further into himself, his hold on the chair’s edge tightening. “Both,” he huffs, letting out a self-deprecating laugh. “I know you can take care of yourself, and I’m very aware that you’re your own person and you can make your own decisions.”

“Go on, you’re doing quite well, actually,” Norton prompts when Dirk stops.

Dirk shoots him a dirty look before looking away again. “I’m just _concerned_ ,” he says in a quietly desperate tone. “I got you caught up in all this and now you’re risking your life to save _mine_. It’s just- it’s not _fair_. Why does everyone have to keep _me_ safe? What makes me so special that everyone I care about has to die because of me? If I’m so _great_ , why can’t I keep you all out of potentially lethal and deadly situations?”

He lets out a choked sob at the end of his rant, and Norton sighs, reaching out to pull Dirk into his arms, letting the other man bury his face into his chest as he wraps his own arms around Dirk protectively.

“You’re worth it, Dirk,” Norton tells him, and Dirk lets out a nasal, sardonic laugh. “You _are_ ,” Norton insists, digging his fingers into the back of Dirk’s shirt. “I’ve never- I don’t _do_ this, you know. I don’t put my life on the line for people very often. I can count on one hand how many times I’ve done it, willingly, and there would still be fingers to spare. I’m a selfish, cowardly, greedy arsehole, and I’ve never had any delusions of being anything else.”

“But you’re not,” Dirk mutters into his chest. “You’re amazing and nice.”

“To _you_ ,” Norton corrects him. “You _are_ special, Dirk, and I don’t know how much of it is you or the bloody Universe. But I know that _you_ are the reason why I’m doing this. And telling me that I shouldn’t makes the whole thing sound kind of cheap, so I’d appreciate it if you would stop it.”

Dirk breaks out into a fit of wet laughter then, pulling away from Norton and rubbing at his eyes.

“I said something like that to Todd before, too,” he says between sniffles. “I suppose this is retribution.”

Norton smiles at him. “You’re not very good at taking your own advice, are you?” he asks rhetorically.

“Neither are you,” Dirk says, grinning at him.

“We’re both a mess,” Norton agrees. “The Universe is mental if it’s put its fate on our shoulders.”

“I think it was high when it made us,” Dirk says, deadly serious. “We were all doomed from the start.”

Norton nods. “Very much so,” he says sagely.

They stare at each other for a moment before bursting into giggles.

“You up for some breakfast, love?” Norton asks once their laughter dies down.

Dirk smiles at him, soft and fond. “It sounds better, now,” he says.

Norton quirks a brow questioningly, and Dirk makes a vague gesture with his hand. “Love,” he says, still smiling. “It sounds nicer now when you say it.”

Norton feels his cheeks heating up at that, even though it’s such a simple statement.

“It feels better to say it,” he admits quietly. It’s as much as he’s willing to acknowledge what Dirk had said about his feelings for him - about his own feelings for Dirk and Priest - and Dirk reaches out to grab his hand, twining their fingers together.

Lucas comes back an hour later while Dirk’s devouring a stack of pancakes and Norton’s watching him while he sips on - better - tea. He’s carrying several more bags than for just a bottle of hair dye, and Norton watches him curiously as he dumps them all on the unoccupied part of the island counter.

“I stopped by my apartment to grab some stuff, since I figured you guys wouldn’t have any bugs lying around here,” Lucas explains.

Norton grins approvingly. “Good thinking, Lucas,” he says. “I like you already.”

Lucas grins back, taking the teasing gracefully. “I hope so, you’re gonna have to like me since I’ll be in your ear for the next day or so, helping you stay alive.”

Dirk’s pushed his plate away and grabbed one of the bags, poking around inside it curiously. He’s pulling out a small circuit board when Norton looks at him, squinting at the thing curiously.

“I have no idea how to use any of this,” he declares after a moment, dropping the circuit board back in the bag.

Lucas shakes his head, digging through one of the bags and pulling out a box of hair dye before tossing it at Dirk, who catches it with a squeak. “I’ll handle the electronics, you can help Norton dye his hair,” Lucas says.

Dirk holds the box between his hands gingerly, looking over at Norton with panic in his eyes.

Norton shakes his head with a laugh, sliding off his stool and going over to Dirk. “You’re hopeless,” he tells him, linking their arms and leading him towards the master bedroom. “Luckily for you, I’m a dab hand at disguises.”

It takes a few hours - and a lot of cleaning up Dirk’s several incidents with the dye - but Norton comes out of the bathroom in the late afternoon with very dark, very wet hair, and it’s a very stunning sight when he looks at himself in the mirror. Dirk had left him alone to wash it off and shower, despite Norton insisting that he join him, and Norton’s alone as he stands in front of the full length mirror in the closet door.

He looks _exactly_ like Dirk, albeit just a tiny bit slimmer, and when Norton tries a bright smile, it’s like looking at Dirk instead of himself. It shocks him into silence, and Norton experiences a moment where he wants to cry and scream at the same time.

_He’s not Norton Folgate anymore._

He’s Dirk Gently, Holistic Detective and the Universe’s advocate, and Norton’s never had a problem with slipping into different characters for the sake of a mission before, but he fears, for a moment, that this is one character where he might never be able to return from again.

A shriek snaps him out of his thoughts and Norton tenses up, turning in a defensive stance instinctively, only to find Dirk standing in the middle of the doorway, gaping wide-eyed at him.

“You’re _me_!” he gasps, pointing at Norton. “It’s- what is- this is very, _very_ unusual!”

Norton grins at him, a patented Dirk Gently smile, and gives a small wave. “Hiii,” he says. “Dirk Gently, Holistic Detective. I believe in the fundamental interconnectedness of all things and solve cases with arguable efficacy!”

Dirk’s eyes bulge out of their sockets comically. “Oh my god,” he says thinly. “Please don’t do that again.”

Norton’s lips quirk into more of a smirk and he asks, in his own voice this time, “Convincing enough, you think?”

Dirk nods stiffly, still staring. “I,” he chokes out before stopping, shaking his head. “I’ve never said that to you, how did you know that?”

Norton shrugs. He doesn’t recall where he’d heard that, but he’d known intrinsically that it’s something Dirk would’ve said. Or has said, apparently.

“It just came to me,” Norton says and Dirk groans.

“Universe,” he mutters darkly to himself.

Norton laughs, turning back to the closet and digging through the jackets. He’s trying to decide on the yellow one that Dirk’s always wearing or the blue one when Dirk’s suddenly behind him, reaching over his shoulder to pull out the blue one.

“It goes better with your eyes,” Dirk says vaguely as he hands it to Norton, and Norton blushes when he adds, “They’re darker than mine.”

Dirk seems to only belatedly realize what he’d just said, because he’s blushing, too, as they face each other, too close but not close enough at the same time.

“That’s the sweetest thing anyone’s ever said to me,” Norton says jokingly, but it sounds far more serious than he’d intended and Dirk’s blush darkens further.

The moment is broken by an awkward cough from the door, and they jump apart, looking over to see Lucas standing in the doorway, a sheepish look on his face as he rubs at the back of his head.

“Sorry to interrupt,” he says sincerely. “But I thought you might want to know that Sam’s awake.”

Norton rolls his eyes heavenward and Dirk grins at him wryly.

\---

Lucas had already explained the plan to Evans, but Norton’s appearance still shocks the man speechless. Evans is sitting on the sofa, surrounded by several wires and compact surveillance equipment that Lucas had set up, and he gapes up at Norton as the three of them join him.

“Just when I thought you couldn’t possibly look any more attractive, sugar,” Evans says as he looks Norton up and down appraisingly. “I slept with twins once,” he adds unnecessarily and Norton shoots him an annoyed look.

“Not even if the world was at stake,” he sneers at him, standing on the other side of the coffee table. “And keep your hands off of Dirk; _I don’t share_ , _either_.”

Evans smirks, but raises his hands in surrender. “If you change your mind, though,” he says with a wink, and it’s Dirk that groans at him in response.

“Is it too late to change the plan?” he asks Lucas as the other man settles onto the middle of the sofa, in front of a laptop on the centre on the coffee table. “I don’t trust Evans alone with Norton for extended periods of time. He’ll end up dead before they even get to meet the Russians.”

Norton shoots him an insulted look. “ _Please_ , I’m a professional,” he scoffs.

Lucas chuckles, shaking his head as he starts typing away on the laptop. “I had Evans contact the Russians while you were in the shower,” Lucas says, nodding down at his laptop.

Norton moves round the table and the sofa until he’s standing behind them, looking at the laptop’s screen over Lucas’s shoulder. The screen’s split into two, one side of it displaying a black window with a constant stream of text and code streaming down it, while the other has a candid photo of a large, angry-looking - probably - Russian man dressed in a black suit, shoving at another man. The picture is grainy, and angled from above, but the Russian man’s face is clear enough.

“This is Ivan Borovotsky,” Lucas explains, typing something that makes the picture shrink into a corner so that another window can take its place, this time with Ivan’s criminal record and personal details. “They call him the Messenger. He’s the boss’s go-to whenever he needs to set up meetings. This guy’s a personal friend of Sammy here, and he’s very helpfully arranged for a meeting with the boss tomorrow morning, before office hours.”

Norton shoots Evans a critical look, to which the man just shrugs innocently. Lucas types something else, and Ivan disappears, to be replaced by another man’s information, along with a mug shot. This man is familiar; Norton remembers him from the office building, his hand on his shoulder and his piercing eyes staring at him and Dirk.

“ _This_ is the boss,” Lucas says. “Nikolai Petrushev. He’s one of the major figureheads in the Bratva, as dangerous and ruthless as they come. His rep sheet is longer than a TV script, and the FBI would sell their asses if they could get even one witness to testify against him. He’s also got a thumb in the human trafficking pie run by the Ukrainian mafia; a _large_ thumb, if my intel’s right.”

“He looks scarier in person,” Dirk remarks uneasily, craning his neck to look up at Norton from where he’s sitting next to Lucas. “I’ve got a bad feeling about this,” he says, anxious. “Maybe we should wait for Priest to wake up and get him to come with you.”

“He’s not exactly a picture of subtlety,” Evans says wryly.

Norton shakes his head at Dirk, giving him a reassuring smile. “I’m sure everything will be fine, love,” he says, even though his gut’s heavy with apprehension, too.

There’s something about the man on Lucas’s screen that’s screaming badbadbadbad at him in a way that nothing ever has before, but it’s too late to back out on the plan, now. He’s sure there’s nothing else they can do, not if they want to get the Russians to back off of Evans. It’s also their best chance at finding out why the mystery organisation - the _Circle_ \- are trying to kidnap Dirk. And there’s the matter of the sonic screwdriver; Norton’s still bothered by how the Russians and the Circle people had even managed to get their hands on one in the first place.

As far as Norton’s aware, only three people in any given timeline - or dimension, even - would have such a thing, and none of them are likely to part from theirs willingly. It _worries_ him, actually, because he’s got a sinking feeling that it’s something to do with the Committee.

“According to Sam here,” Lucas says, drawing Norton and Dirk’s attention back to him, “Petrushev has been in frequent contact with some physics professors at NYU. Our guess is that he’s trying to figure out how to use the sonic screwdriver to its full potential.”

“It’s only a matter of time before some overachieving genius starts putting two and two together and builds an unstable alien weapon with it,” Evans adds, shaking his head. “Petrushev is too ambitious to stick to just hacking ATMs.”

“Speak for yourself,” Norton says to him. “What made you think you could possibly get away with blackmailing a man like that for it?”

Evans shrugs carelessly. “Figured if the Universe wanted me to get it, I’d have an exit pass if things went south,” he says with a self-deprecating smile. “Didn’t know the exit pass would be you guys.”

Lucas picks up a tiny, skin-coloured, round thing and hands it to Norton over his shoulder, who takes it gingerly and studies it closely.

“That’s an audio recorder and transmitter,” Lucas explains. “We can communicate through that. My friend had it programmed to work on a frequency that’s only detectable with specific tech, so the Russians shouldn’t have any equipment to pick it up.”

He picks up what looks like a container for contact lenses and passes that to Norton, as well. “The contacts have retinal cameras, so we’ll be able to see what you see, too,” Lucas says, sheepishly adding, “They’re still just a prototype, so they might sting if you start crying or mess with your eyes.”

“Nothing permanent, I hope,” Norton says warily, opening the case and looking inside to see two clear contacts lying innocently in it. There’re minute, barely visible lines of black wires running through them, connected to a tiny circular bit in their centres.

“I’ve used them twice, and my vision’s still twenty-twenty,” Lucas tells him helpfully. “Also, we only have one pair, so you’re the only one who gets them.”

“Don’t I feel special,” Norton says sarcastically, but he’s already putting the transmitter into his left ear and carefully touching one of the contacts with his pointer finger. “Is there an on button or something that I’ve got to press?” he asks as he pokes it into his eye and proceeds to do the same with the second one.

“I can do that for you remotely,” Lucas says as Norton blinks rapidly to get used to the feeling of having something foreign over his eyeballs.

Lucas types away on his laptop again, and Norton hisses with a wince as his eyes twinge suddenly, and then Lucas’s screen is filled with a camera view of Norton’s vision.

“ _Fascinating_ ,” Dirk breathes out, leaning forward and closer to the laptop. “That’s amazing!’

Norton blinks, which causes the video to blink, too, and he looks around the living area experimentally, hearing Dirk coo with awe as he watches the feed from Norton’s eyes on the laptop’s screen.

“Everything’s working fine,” Lucas says approvingly, looking over at Evans and then over his shoulder at Norton. “You two should rest, you’re gonna need it tomorrow.”

\---

Norton inhales deeply as he and Evans stand at the foot of the huge glass doors of Petrushev’s building early the next day. Evans has his arm in a firm hold, keeping up the pretense that Norton’s his ‘captive’, and there’s a tight feeling in Norton’s chest, that same insistent nudge that had led him to the building before. It’s unnerving, and the apprehension on his face is genuine as Evans makes a show of dragging him towards the doors.

“C’mon, sweetheart,” Evans says roughly. “Let’s get this over with.”

Norton has to actively not roll his eyes, trying to think of how Dirk would react instead, and instinctively lets out an indignant little squeak as he stumbles along with Evans. Evans discretely shoots him a surprised look, which Norton ignores in favour of looking over the guards that are standing just beyond the glass doors. There are two of them, dressed in security uniforms, but they look far more dangerous than the usual nighwatchmen.

One of them steps up to them as they walk towards the empty reception counter, and narrows his eyes at Evans.

“You are late,” he grunts out, frowning. “Mr. Petrushev do not like waiting.”

Evans grins callously, shrugging his shoulders and tugging Norton forward and towards the guard. “Took a bit of convincing to get him to come along,” Evans lies easily. “His usual room, I presume?”

The guard sneers, but steps aside and nods towards the elevators beyond the counter. “You know the way,” he says.

There are thin, half-concealed metal detectors on either side of the pillars that frame the lift lobby, and Norton hears Lucas whistle lowly in his ear as he looks them over as slowly as he can while Evans pulls him towards one of the elevators that’s open.

“ _That’s pretty advanced for an office_ ,” he remarks.

Norton and Evans get on the elevator, and Evans presses the button for the 35th floor as Norton looks around, making sure to catch a view of every visible security camera in the lobby and inside the elevator itself.

“ _There’s audio on the camera in there, be careful what you guys say_ ,” Lucas warns as the elevator doors close.

“Are you sure there’s nothing I can _say_ to convince you not to hand me over to this Petrushev person?” Norton asks Evans nervously in Dirk’s voice. “It’s just that, it seems quite ungrateful on your end, seeing as I came here to _help_ you.”

Evans catches on quickly, responding callously with, “No can do, sweetheart. It’s survival of the fittest in the city, and you know, I kind of like not being dead.”

“You’re sort of a terrible person, aren’t you?” Norton says sulkily, and his glare at Evans is very much genuine.

Evans grins back at him, sharp-toothed and cold. “You flatter me,” he says. “That’s the least worst thing anyone’s ever called me.”

The elevator is fast; it dings its arrival on their floor, then, and Norton looks out the doors to see a gleaming white hallway with rose red carpeting beyond it. The hall leads towards only one door at the end of it, and Evans pulls him to it without a word. The dread in Norton’s chest grows the further along the corridor they walk, and it’s not completely an act when he starts dragging his feet instead of moving willingly with Evans. Evans shoots him a warning look, but Norton barely catches it, staring at the door in front of them with visible apprehension.

Evans stops walking a foot from the door and tugs Norton close to himself, muttering very softly into his ear, “It’ll be fine,” before he knocks on the door with his other hand. It clicks and falls open by itself, slowly, and Evans waits until it’s swung in completely before striding inside.

The room inside is very large and very lavishly furnished, and also very _white_. Every piece of furniture and decoration is some shade of white, from the large wooden desk in the centre - just in front of the floor-to-ceiling windows lining the length of the room - to the plush, bearskin rug that’s covering a majority of the floor. Even the paperweight on the desk - a miniature wolf rearing back on its haunches - is an off-white colour, and Norton feels incredibly uncomfortable as Evans tugs him towards a sofa in one corner of the room - which is also white.

“Stay put,” Evans tells him harshly as he pushes Norton onto it, and Norton makes a show of flinching back from him, curling up into the sofa against one of its armrests.

“Do not be rude, Samuel,” a familiar voice chides, and they both turn to see Petrushev walking into the room from a door to the side of the desk, which disappears as it closes, blending in perfectly into the white wall. He looks exactly like Norton remembers him the previous day. “He is my guest.”

Norton suppresses a shudder at the intense stare the man is giving him as he walks closer towards them.

“Nikolai!” Evans says in a friendly tone. “How have you been, friend?”

Petrushev stops next to Evans, giving him a flat stare and a cold smile. “I am glad you saw reason, Samuel,” he says, reaching into his jacket and pulling out a piece of paper. He hands it to Evans, who takes it with a raised brow. “For your trouble. And guarantee that you will not give _me_ more trouble.”

Evans looks down at the paper and his eyes widen. “That’s a lot of zeroes, Nikolai,” he says with awe. “Can’t believe he’s worth more than my bounty.”

Petrushev looks down at Norton, the smile on his face thinning. “He is special boy,” he says to Evans, though his eyes are locked on Norton’s. “Like you, da?”

Evans pockets the paper and shrugs. “Don’t know what you mean,” he tells Petrushev.

Petrushev rolls his eyes before shaking his head. “Leave now,” he says dismissively, waving Evans away. “I have business to attend.”

Evans glances at Norton, a hint of unease showing through his act, but then he shrugs. “Alright, but if his body turns up in the Manhattan river tomorrow morning, I wasn’t here,” he says, walking towards the door they’d come in from.

Petrushev chuckles darkly. “Of course,” he says, and Norton breaks their eye contact to watch Evans leave. The man spares him a curt, encouraging nod as he disappears out the door.

“ _Keep cool, you’re doing great_ ,” Lucas says into his ear, and Norton wishes he would just shut up.

“Mr. Gently,” Petrushev says, and Norton jumps, looking quickly up at Petrushev. “We have not properly met; my name is Nikolai Petrushev,” the man says, reaching a hand out to him.

Norton takes it hesitantly, yelping when Petrushev grips his hand tightly and jerks him off the sofa and onto his feet.

“Your brother is well, I hope?” Petrushev asks with amusement as Norton stumbles. The other man steadies him with his other hand on Norton’s arm, and Norton has to suppress a shudder at his touch.

It takes a moment for him to understand what Petrushev is asking, and Norton nods stiffly, tugging his hand out of the man’s hold. “Y-yes, yes, um, he’s _very_ well,” he stammers out. “Thank you for asking.”

Petrushev lets go of him, the corners of his lips turning up in a sharp smile, and then he’s turning and walking away to his desk, leaving Norton to stand by the sofa awkwardly, unsure of what the man expects him to do.

“What do you want from me?” Norton asks cautiously, and Petrushev snorts as he goes behind his desk and opens a drawer to rummage through it. “Why did you have Evans bring me here?”

“I never forget a face, Mr. Gently,” Petrushev says nonchalantly, shaking his head and not answering Norton’s questions. “It is important not to, in my business.”

“ _Shit_ ,” Lucas curses suddenly, and the feeling in Norton’s chest explodes painfully as Petrushev pulls out a gun from the desk, aiming it at him. “ _They_ know _, Norton, get out of there_!”

“Tell me, how stupid do you think I am that I would not recognize you with that silly ‘disguise’?” Petrushev asks curiously as Norton stares at the gun, stunned, unable to move or think. “You have eyes of killer, Mr. Gently, not like your brother. What do English call it? Ah, yes; ‘takes one to know one’, da?”

“ _Norton_!” Lucas hisses, at the same time Norton hears that voice in his head - “ _Don’t run_!” - and Norton squeezes his eyes shut when Petrushev pulls the trigger, gasping in pain as something sharp lodges into his right shoulder. His eyes fly open, and he looks over at it to see the butt of a dart jutting out from his jacket, and then he loses all feeling in his legs and drops down to his knees heavily, his eyelids drooping at the same time.

“Rest well, Mr. Gently,” he hears Petrushev say as his vision starts to fail him, the man’s voice thick and muted in his ears, fighting to be heard over Lucas’s frantic calls of his name. “You will need it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hiiii.
> 
> 1- Although the Tong gang and the Bratva are real organized crime syndicates in NYC, I am not affiliated to either of them, everything here is purely fictional, and any similarities to actual people are completely coincidental. Please don't tell anyone about this.


	12. Stop thinking and think.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dirk finally figures it the fuck out. _Did it_!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reference for Projects Echidna, Phoenix, Harpy, Vesta & Elli can be found here: [Project Echidna's Data File](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15859788/chapters/37589165), [Project Phoenix's Data File](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15859788/chapters/37589651), [Project Harpy's Data File](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15859788/chapters/37589714), [Project Vesta's Data File](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15859788/chapters/37589765) & [Project Elli's Data File](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15859788/chapters/37589822).
> 
> Some non-consensual kissing here, but mostly off-screen and very brief. Also mentioned and implied human trafficking, I completely missed that, sorry! Lotsa things happening at the same time. Re-reading once or twice is highly recommended.

“I told you this was a _bad_ idea!” Dirk shouts, pacing fitfully back and forth in front of the coffee table, hands tugging at his hair, heart pounding loudly in his ears. “We have to go in there! We have to get inside and get Norton out, before they do anything to him!”

He stops pacing and turns towards Lucas, who’s typing frantically away on his laptop. “Are you _listening_ to me?” Dirk demands angrily, stomping his foot.

Lucas nods, but his eyes are narrowed on his screen. “I am,” he says distractedly, “But I’m listening to Petrushev, too. Norton’s earpiece is still working, but they’re talking in Russian.”

Dirk’s eyes widen, and he scrambles over onto the sofa next to Lucas, grabbing at the man’s arm. “What are they saying?” he asks quickly, “Are they going to hurt him? Give him to the Circle? Sell him on the black market?”

Lucas spares him an astonished glance before shaking his head, still typing on his laptop. “It’s Russian, Dirk, so I don’t know,” he says. “I’m trying to get it translated, but you need to be patient.”

Dirk bites the inside of his cheek to keep himself from saying something harsh, knowing that that’s not going to help. But he’s so _scared_ , and worried, guilt gnawing away in his gut for letting Norton walk right into a trap - never mind that Norton had agreed to the plan in the first place - and it’s hard to sit still and just watch Lucas as he does whatever he’s doing on his laptop.

The worst part is that Dirk _knows_ that this is supposed to happen; this is exactly what the Universe had planned to happen, and he _hates_ that. He hates that whatever is going to happen to Norton next will be because the Universe _wants_ it to, and if Dirk tries to do anything to change that, something worse will just occur instead.

_Just like with Priest._

“I’m sorry,” Lucas says suddenly, his fingers pausing for a moment as he gives Dirk a sympathetic wince. “I swear I’m gonna do everything I can to help you get Norton back. I sent my friend a message to tap into the Russians’ network, so if his name comes up anywhere else, we’ll know.”

Dirk purses his lips, not feeling comforted at all. But he appreciates Lucas’s efforts, and gives the other man a few gentle pats on the shoulder.

“I’ve got it,” Lucas says, and Dirk leans forward eagerly as he opens a window on his laptop and a voice speaking in Russian booms out from the speakers, overlapped with another more mechanical voice speaking in English.

“ _...the woman_ ,” it says. “ _I don’t trust those freaks to keep their end of the bargain_.”

There’s a sound of shuffling, and a thud, and the voice hisses irritably, “ _Careful, you idiot. I need him in one piece_.”

Dirk frowns worriedly at that, just as another voice says, “ _Sorry, boss_.”

The other voice, Petrushev, clicks his tongue, saying, “ _Just do your fucking job before I cut off your fingers and feed them to my dogs_.”

A new voice pipes in, fainter as if the owner is far away from Norton, and speaking English with a British accent, “ _Calm down, Nikolai. We can still use him with a few bruises_.”

“ _Be careful how you speak to me, friend_ ,” Petrushev says in response, and his disdain can be clearly heard in his tone. “ _Your people still owe me money_.”

The British voice gets louder, presumably moving closer to them, and it sounds awfully amused as it says, “ _Yes, yes, I told you, it’s on its way. In the meantime, I remember you promised me a private moment with dear Norton_?”

Dirk feels himself paling at that, and he grips painfully at his knees as Petrushev makes a snorting sound. “ _Fucking fairies_ ,” he says. “ _You can ride in the back with him. Just remember; he’s mine to sell after you people get your artefact, and prices are higher for undamaged goods_.”

“ _Of course_ ,” the other voice replies, sounding far more amused now. “ _Although, I must say, it’s a bit late for that. He’s hardly untouched_.”

“ _His face is fine_ ,” Petrushev says dismissively. “ _Make sure you keep it that way_.”

The other voice hums, and then there’s only silence, followed shortly by the muffled sounds of footsteps and a metal door slamming shut.

“ _Good god, Norton, what_ have _you done to your hair_ ,” the voice says, very loud despite how soft it sounds. “ _Such a waste, my love_.”

“Turn it off,” Dirk bites out, and Lucas looks over at him with a grimace, but blessedly mutes the speakers. “I can’t- if there’s anything useful, tell me,” Dirk says, swallowing the lump of helpless anger that’s formed in his throat.

Lucas nods, saying, “I think he’s just sitting there. It sounded like they were talking about moving Norton somewhere. I’ll tell you if anything happens.”

Dirk stands up from the sofa without a word, walking stiffly to the master bedroom. Priest is still sound asleep on the bed, and Dirk stares at him as he closes the door behind himself and leans back against it.

He can’t decide how he’s feeling.

He’s angry, and scared, and worried, and he wants so much to run out the front door and towards wherever it is that Petrushev is sending Norton, but something heavy and grim is anchoring him here, a feeling in his chest that tells him he has to stay put, at least for the time being. Dirk closes his eyes and lets out a long, slow breath between his lips, trying to think of something else besides the thousands of terrible things that could happen to Norton in the Russians’ clutches, and is startled when he hears Priest’s phone ring shrilly from the bedside table.

It’s Samuel, he knows it is, and Dirk trips over his own feet in his rush to answer.

“Where are you?” he asks breathlessly as he holds the phone to his ear, and Samuel scoffs.

“ _Yeah, I’m fine, Dirk, thanks for asking, I really appreciate your concern_ ,” he answers sarcastically and Dirk rolls his eyes in frustration.

“Petrushev _knew_ Norton wasn’t me the moment you guys walked in there,” Dirk tells him exasperatedly. “He’s unconscious now, and they’re moving him, but we don’t know where yet.”

Samuel curses on the other end of the line. “ _Sorry, Dirk. I had a feeling Petrushev knew more than he was letting on_ ,” he says, sounding annoyed with himself. “ _I saw a van leaving the garage a minute ago, I think that could be them. I texted Lucas the plates so maybe he can track it through CCTV or something_.”

Dirk breathes out a sigh of relief. “Thank you!” he says. “Where are you now? I think it’s best we all stay together for the time being.”

“ _I’ll be there in fifteen_ ,” Samuel says, and Dirk hears him whistling and shouting for a taxi, followed by the sound of a car door opening. “ _And Dirk_?”

“Yes?”

“ _It wasn’t your fault, so don’t blame yourself, alright_?” Samuel tells him, sounding uncharacteristically comforting and gentle. “ _I’ll see you guys soon_.”

He hangs up before Dirk can say anything, and Dirk grips the phone tightly in his hand, wanting so much to just break down and cry.

Samuel is wrong; _everything_ is Dirk’s fault.

_Everything is always his fault._

\---

Samuel reaches the room at the same time Lucas shouts for Dirk, and Dirk comes stumbling out of the master bedroom wiping furiously at his teary eyes.

“Did Norton wake up?” Dirk asks urgently as he very nearly slams into the sofa.

Lucas shakes his head, saying, “No, but they’re getting Norton out of the van. Also, I found them passing by Washington Square, but they must have taken shortcuts after that because I lost track of them.”

“And who said Big Brother’s watching us?” Samuel remarks dryly as he steps inside from the elevator, stopping behind the sofa. “Can’t even invest in decent traffic cams.”

Lucas snorts in amusement as he taps a key on his laptop, and the window he’d used before pops back up onto the screen, followed by fragments of the British stranger’s voice distantly speaking.

“ _...hour, not more… and you will get it, Nikolai… to me like that_...”

“I can’t hear anything,” Dirk says through gritted teeth, leaning closer to the laptop.

Lucas hums in agreement, and the only sounds that come from the earpiece are muffled steps and the thudding of doors opening and closing. It’s several minutes before there’s utter silence, and Dirk swallows nervously as he waits for more.

“ _Norton, darling, wake up_ ,” the British voice comes back suddenly, much louder, and Dirk jumps in surprise. “ _Come on, then, open those pretty blue eyes for me_ ,” the man coos, and there’s the sound of skin slapping against skin before Lucas taps another key on the laptop and a black window pops up next to the other one.

The blackness flickers briefly, and Dirk realizes that it’s the camera from Norton’s contacts, and he’s blinking awake. The video flickers several times more before it focuses, and the three of them are looking at the face of a man with dark hair and eyes, smiling widely down at Norton.

Dirk hears Norton gasp, and the video loses focus as he scrambles up and away from the other man.

“ _No_ ,” they hear Norton say breathlessly. “ _No, you’re_ dead _, I killed you_!”

Dirk gnaws on his bottom lip as he apprehensively watches the stranger shake his head, the expression on his face taking on a falsely-sad turn.

“ _What a way to greet the love of your life_ ,” the man chides, reaching a hand out towards Norton.

The video unfocuses again as Norton backs away from the man abruptly, and he says viciously, “ _Don’t patronize me, Jeremiah! How are you still alive_?”

The man - _Jeremiah_ , Dirk thinks scornfully, even his name is annoying - rolls his eyes, as if Norton’s being completely unreasonable.

“ _Did you really think I wouldn’t have a clone or two lying around with the amount of enemies I’ve made through the centuries_?” he scoffs. “ _The Committee can be very generous, if you recall. Provided that your performance is up to par, of course_.”

“ _Of_ course,” Norton says quietly, sounding disturbed.

Jeremiah reaches out for him again, and Norton moves, but Jeremiah is faster this time, grabbing his forearm before he can get very far. The video shifts until there’s only a view of a grey, concrete wall.

“ _Norton, my love, I forgive you_ ,” Jeremiah says, and Norton scoffs but doesn’t look at him. “ _Truly, I don’t hold what you did against you. You were afraid and confused, and you did what any Torchwood agent would do_.”

“ _I should have done it better_ ,” Norton says harshly.

“ _Don’t be like that, Norton_ ,” Jeremiah says disapprovingly. “ _Listen, darling; I’ve spoken to the Committee, and they agree with me! They’re willing to overlook your little rebellious stunt, as long as you come along with me and help me bring the war-machine to the Committee in the Human Empire_.”

Norton lets out a bitter laugh, and the video shifts again until he’s facing Jeremiah. “ _Do you really think so little of me_?” Norton asks. “ _The Committee doesn’t_ forgive _, Jeremiah, and I don’t forget. You_ lied _to me, and I know you’re lying now. The moment I activate that machine,_ I die.”

Jeremiah rolls his eyes again, and Dirk sees his hand moving up Norton’s arm from a corner of the video. “ _Oh, don’t be so dramatic, Norton_ ,” Jeremiah says before he shifts closer to Norton and stares into his eyes longingly. “ _I_ love _you, you fool_ ,” he says softly, and Dirk tenses up as he hears Norton inhale sharply at the confession.

“ _Come back to me_ ,” Jeremiah pleads, leaning impossibly closer. “ _Forget all this ‘Circle’ people’s nonsense and leave with me. I’ve missed you, Norton_.”

Dirk squeezes his eyes shut when the video is filled with Jeremiah’s eyes as he closes the distance between himself and Norton, but Dirk can still _hear_ them, the sound of Norton’s breathy gasp being swollen up by this asshole ringing loudly in his ears, followed by the general telltale sounds of people _kissing_.

The sounds that Norton makes when _he’s_ kissing.

“Fuck,” Samuel says, and Dirk hears the two men part abruptly and Norton panting for breath.

“ _No_ ,” he hears Norton say, “ _No, Dirk, this isn’t what it looks like- I don’t-_!”

Jeremiah cuts him off with an annoyed, “Dirk? _Who are you talking to_?” and Dirk’s eyes fly open to see Jeremiah squinting into the video as a look of realization dawns on him. “ _You’re bugged_!” he says, his face contorting with anger as he reaches for Norton’s face.

Norton slaps his hand away, but Jeremiah must’ve grabbed his other arm and tugged at him because the video shifts sideways as he falls, and he grunts in pain, eyes falling shut as the video blacks out.

“Norton!” Dirk yells, rising to his feet.

“ _You traitorous little bitch_!” shouts Jeremiah’s voice, and Norton gasps loudly.

There’s sounds of clothes rustling, the video flickering, and Dirk catches fragmented scenes of Jeremiah’s hands and his furious face and then the video blacks out completely once again, followed by the sound of thumping feet.

“ _If you’re going to be so stubborn, then I suppose I’ll just have to drag you back with me kicking and screaming, my love_ ,” Jeremiah says cruelly. “ _And I do quite enjoy listening to you scream_.”

“Norton, we’re coming for you,” Dirk says desperately as Norton gasps again, sounding choked. “Just hold on, please, we’ll find you soon!”

The audio gets distorted, then, crackling before it goes silent, and Dirk stares blankly at the laptop screen for a very long moment.

“That was bad,” Lucas says unnecessarily. “Shit.”

It snaps Dirk out of his shock, and he scrambles anxiously towards the master bedroom, ignoring Samuel calling his name. Dirk practically jumps onto the bed next to Priest, grabbing his shoulders and shaking him aggressively.

“Wake up!” he yells at the man. “Wake _up_ , Oz, we need to go! Come on!”

Priest doesn’t even twitch, his face slack and serene as he continues to slumber, and Dirk drops him back onto the bed with a frustrated sound.

“You’re so _useless_!” he shouts down at him, grabbing the front of his t-shirt and gripping tightly. “Don’t you care about him at all? Are you really just going to _sleep_ while that smarmy bastard has his way with _our_ Norton?!”

Hands grab at his shoulders suddenly and Dirk shouts unintelligibly as he struggles against them, losing his grip on Priest’s t-shirt when the hands pull him backwards.

“Dirk!” Samuel yells at him, pulling him off the bed to stand in front of him, and Dirk slaps at him, blindly trying to get him to let him go. “Dirk, stop it!” Samuel says with exasperation, flinching back when Dirk manages to hit him in the face.

“Dirk!” Samuel snaps, and the anger in his tone sobers Dirk up slightly.

Dirk stops struggling, and Samuel’s face is blurred through the tears that have gathered in his eyes.

“We have to save Norton,” Dirk says helplessly, his lips quivering. “This is _my_ fault, we never should’ve let him go, that should be _me_ there with the dangerous gangsters and the creepy asshole!”

“No, Dirk, you _know_ that’s not true,” Samuel tells him, his tone softening, his eyes pitying.

Dirk shakes his head as tears start streaming down his cheeks. “We have to get him back,” he insists miserably.

“Stop thinking about Norton for a second,” Samuel says, and Dirk glares at him for even suggesting such a thing. Samuel shakes his head, saying, “No, Dirk, _listen_ , okay? I’m sorry, but Norton’s not the point to any of this. You’re a _detective_ , right? Then do your job; figure out what’s going on, and we’ll figure out how to save Norton, too.”

Dirk scoffs, shrugging Samuel’s hands off his shoulders and taking a step back from the man. “I _don’t know_ what’s going on!” he says with frustration. “I’m not _psychic_ , I just get hunches! Useless, late-to-the-party hunches that don’t do anything except get people into trouble and usually also _dead_!”

“But you knew about the Russians before I told you,” Samuel points out, crossing his arms over his chest. “You knew about the sonic screwdriver, too.”

“That was a _lucky guess_ , I told you,” Dirk says haplessly, which is true. He’d asked without thinking, unsure himself of what he’d been thinking when he had. Which is 90% of what he does and how he goes through life.

Samuel smirks, to Dirk’s surprise. “Then _guess_ ,” he says pointedly. “Guess what the fuck we should do now. Forget about Norton, about Priest, hell _everything_. Just stop thinking and _think_.”

Dirk stares at him disbelievingly, wanting to point out how much of a contradiction what he’d just said is, but something Samuel had said makes him pause.

“The sonic screwdriver,” he mutters aloud, eyes widening on Samuel. “You said they got it about two weeks ago, yes?”

Samuel nods, shrugging, and Dirk starts pacing, hands running through his hair as he says, “Two weeks ago, the Russians ‘found’ the sonic screwdriver. The pompous asshole, _Jeremiah_ , he’s working for _the Committee_. And before, the way he was speaking to Petrushev, it sounded like they were working together, as well.” Stopping in his tracks, Dirk turns to Samuel, an astonished expression on his face, snapping his fingers. “Of course! It wasn’t the Circle that gave the sonic screwdriver to the Russians, it was _the Committee_! Norton spatially dislocated into Blackwing about a month ago, and when the Hive spectacularly failed to bring him back, the Committee must have sent Jeremiah instead.

“The Circle has been looking for me, and because the Russian mob has a hand in human trafficking, they hired them to help find me. At the same time, Jeremiah must have caught wind of what I look like, and thinking that _I’m_ Norton, had bribed the Russians to give ‘me’ to him instead of the Circle.”

Dirk looks at Samuel excitedly, practically shaking on his feet, while Samuel just looks confused. “Wait, that doesn’t explain how they even knew you guys were in New York,” he says.

Dirk shakes his head, rolling his eyes. “The Circle,” he says obviously. “One of them, Frae, she said the Universe wanted ‘Norton Folgate’ in New York,” Dirk says. “She said _his name_. There must have been some miscommunication between the Russians, the Circle and Jeremiah, somewhere along the way. While the Circle certainly knew _I_ would be in New York, through holistic means, Jeremiah must be under the impression that Norton and I are the _same person_. Although, because of our plan, it turned out to be _true_.”

Samuel shakes his head, smiling wryly. “I still don’t get it, but okay,” he admits. “So, what do we do now, sweetheart?”

Dirk freezes at the question, because he’s not actually sure. While he’s figured out what’s _happening_ , he still doesn’t know what’s supposed to happen _next_.

And then a thought occurs to him. “What’s in Chinatown?” he asks Samuel.

Samuel shrugs, rubbing at his chin as he thinks. “Chinatown shit, I guess?” he says. “Why?”

“Of all the places in New York City, why choose _Chinatown_ as a base of operations?” Dirk asks, and Samuel makes an ‘oh’ sound of understanding. “That’s where we need to go! We have to find out what’s there that had drawn the Circle here in the first place!”

Samuel stares at him before his face breaks out into a smirk of admiration. “Not bad, sugar,” he says approvingly and Dirk grins back widely.

His heart twinges at the thought of leaving Norton in Jeremiah’s hands any longer, but there’s that feeling in his chest that tells him he’s on the right track, and Dirk prays to the Universe that the feeling doesn’t end up with Norton getting killed.

\---

Norton’s so _furious_ , he’s really barely able to control himself as he punches Jeremiah in his lying face. The bastard staggers backwards with the force of the hit, clutching at his nose and making a strangled groan of pain.

“You broke my nose!” he splutters as he gapes at Norton.

“Oh, don’t pretend you deserve anything less,” Norton snarls at him. “You vile prick! After I kill you this time, I’m going to kill every single one of your clones!”

Tilting his head up to keep his nose from bleeding any further, Jeremiah snorts. “You would have to get past the Committee first, and from the sounds of it, you’re not likely to come near the old crones,” he sneers.

Norton shakes his head, taking a step back from the man when he takes a step forward. “Stay where you are!” he snaps, pointing a finger at him warningly. “I can’t believe you _kissed_ me!”

“Don’t play coy, you _liked_ it,” Jeremiah says, rolling his eyes.

“Hard to believe someone you fucked over wouldn’t enjoy your attentions, isn’t it,” Norton replies scathingly. “Keep your lips to yourself or I’ll tear them off your face.”

“What’s gotten into you?” Jeremiah asks, frowning. “I was extending an olive branch!”

“Yes, very kind of you,” Norton scoffs. “Offering to kill me after you’ve fucked me, that deserves a Nobel prize, doesn’t it?”

“I wouldn’t have to if you would just listen to reason!” Jeremiah protests. “Keep the Mark, but activating the war-machine is hardly a death sentence! You would be the strongest being in the universe with it, how does that sound like a terrible fate?”

“Did the Committee really not tell you anything, or are you just being obtuse on purpose?” Norton asks flatly. “Whoever wields that war-machine is no more a person than a _tool_. My consciousness wouldn’t survive it. I might as well _be_ dead.”

Jeremiah’s eyes widen, and Norton knows his shock is genuine. But Jeremiah schools his features into a cool expression quickly, wiping at the blood under his nose with the back of his hand as he shrugs.

“It’s not _that_ bad,” he says and Norton snorts indelicately.

“The Committee can find other means to destroy Earth,” he snaps. “But leave me out of it. I’m _finished_ with them.”

“Destroy Earth?” Jeremiah echoes, sounding confused. Then he laughs. “Is that what you think? That they want to use it to destroy humanity?”

Norton scowls at him as he shakes his head. “Norton, love, whatever gave you _that_ idea?” Jeremiah asks condescendingly. “They don’t want to kill humans, they want to use it against the Enemy.”

“What?” Norton asks, confused.

“In my time, the Committee dies out, finally,” Jeremiah explains. “Torchwood is outlawed and the Enemy rules more than half the universe with an iron-fist. The Committee just wants to survive that event. With the Mark’s war-machine, they can wipe out the Enemy before the Enemy does it to them first.”

Ah. That’s certainly news to Norton. He’d never known that. He’s heard of the Enemy, in records and reports, but he’s never travelled that far into the future to encounter them or anyone that’s been in contact with them. It sounds foreboding, a future where they’re so widespread, but it’s hardly any of Norton’s concern when he’s still trying to survive 2017.

“That’s not my problem, is it?” he says to Jeremiah.

Jeremiah’s expression becomes annoyed, and he takes another step towards Norton. “Listen, can we please just leave this pathetic century and discuss this where there aren’t two annoying organisations baying for your blood?” he says exasperatedly. “The Russians are stupid enough to believe that I would give you back to them in one piece, but these Circle people are psychics and persistent. They’re not exactly much kinder than the Committee.”

Norton’s eyes widen at the mention of the Circle. “You’ve met them?” he demands. “The Circle?”

Jeremiah shrugs. “A few,” he says. “The leader is a woman. She’s bloodthirsty, and her lapdogs aren’t much better.”

Norton breathes slowly through his mouth, thinking, realizing belatedly that Jeremiah is moving closer and closer to him until the other man is right in front of him, grabbing a hold of his arms.

“Norton,” Jeremiah says, as Norton startles and tries to break out of his grip. “Please, my love, stop being ridiculous and listen to me.”

Norton glares at him, and sees something over his shoulder. There’s a door there, in the middle of the dirty concrete wall behind him, and it’s opening slowly.

“I’ve always thought that you have an abnormally small penis,” Norton tells Jeremiah before kneeing him hard in the groin.

Jeremiah’s eyes bulge as he gasps in pain, releasing Norton to clutch at his jewels as he falls down to his knees. Norton punches him in the face with a self-satisfied smirk, and Jeremiah drops sideways onto the ground, motionless.

“I found him!” a woman’s voice shouts outside the door, and Norton turns to see a young redhead with long, flowing curls standing in the now-open doorway. She’s got a circle tattoo around her neck, and Norton tenses up apprehensively at the sight.

She strides in quickly, barely sparing Jeremiah a disinterested glance as she grabs Norton by the arm before he can move.

“C’mon, Icarus, you’re coming with us,” she says brusquely, dragging him towards the door.

“Who are you?” Norton asks her, not quite sure whether to struggle or not.

“A friend,” she tells him.

They’re joined by a blond, short-haired Asian girl outside in the hallway, and she doesn’t look a day over twenty, but she’s got a pistol in one hand and a machete in another, holding them like it’s the most natural thing in the world. She also has the tattoo on her neck, and Norton immediately dislikes her as she looks Norton over briefly before turning to the redhead.

“He doesn’t _look_ like much,” she says, dubious, and the redhead shrugs. “He’s the real deal,” she says firmly.

The redhead starts down one end of the hallway, the Asian girl following behind them.

“Where are you taking me?” Norton tries asking.

“Somewhere safer,” the redhead answers him, not even looking at him.

“We got company,” the Asian girl cuts in suddenly, and the redhead stops short, letting go of Norton and turning around.

Norton turns, too, and sees Petrushev on the far end of the hallway, flanked by several of his man. He looks incredibly pissed off.

“Kill them!” Petrushev shouts, face red. “And bring the boy back!”

The redhead huffs irritably as Petrushev’s men surge forward, and she waves a hand in front of her. Norton sees a faint, red shimmer in the air as Pertrushev’s men shout out in alarm, three of them rising into the air before getting thrown against one wall of the hallway and falling onto the ground in a motionless pile. The others glance at them cautiously, but keep moving towards them.

“Eren,” the redhead says and the Asian girl nods curtly.

The next thing Norton knows, she’s gone, and Petrushev’s men drop to the ground with cries of pain, one by one, bloody slashes appearing out of nowhere on all parts of their bodies. Petrushev backs away as the last of them fall, pulling out a gun from his jacket and aiming in front of him, looking around frantically. When Norton blinks, the Asian girl is standing next to him, running her machete through his stomach before Petrushev can even shout.

He gapes at her and drops his gun, and the girl pulls out her machete, letting him fall to his knees as he stares up at her.

“Black magic,” he grunts out, blood spurting out of his mouth. He chokes out a sardonic laugh, grinning madly. “I see you in hell, witch,” he sneers before falling down to the ground.

The girl crouches down next to his lifeless body and puts her gun on the ground to rifle through his pockets. She pulls out the sonic screwdriver from inside his jacket and stuffs it into the back pocket of her jeans before grabbing her gun again. Then she disappears into thin air, and Norton gasps when she reappears suddenly right in front of him and the redhead.

“We should go,” she says flatly. “They won’t be happy we killed their boss.”

“ _He_ kills people all the time, and no one bats an eye!” the redhead says, throwing her hands up in exasperation. “How is it that _we’re_ the bad guys?”

“Let’s just go, Lulu,” the Asian girl says, rolling her eyes.

The redhead grumbles something under her breath, but she grabs Norton’s arm again and starts pulling him back in the direction they had been heading in.

“I feel like I should share that I don’t feel completely safe with the two of you, either,” Norton tells her. “Perhaps you could just let me go, and we can happily go our separate ways.”

The redhead, Lulu, grimaces and shoots him an apologetic smile. “Sorry, Icarus, I swear we’re not usually this violent,” she says. “Ingres will explain everything to you, and you’ll understand. Don’t worry about it for now, okay?”

Norton frowns at her uneasily. “You don’t mean Ingres Lith, by any chance, do you?” he asks.

Lulu’s smile widens. “You’ve heard of her?” she says in answer.

“A little,” Norton says. “Not very nice things, I’m afraid.”

Lulu’s smile drops and she looks crestfallen. “A lot of people don’t get it,” she says sullenly. “I know we do bad things sometimes, but it’s for the greater good.”

Norton hums, saying, “The road to hell is often paved with good intentions.”

Lulu’s hold on his arm tightens a bit, and her expression becomes doubtful and slightly miserable. Something nudges into the small of Norton’s back, and he yelps, looking over his shoulder to see the Asian girl glaring at him.

“Less talking, more walking,” she says simply.

Norton rolls his eyes, shrugging. “Where _are_ you taking me, actually?” he asks.

Lulu’s grip loosens again as she answers him. “Chinatown,” she says. “The key is there.”

“What key?” Norton asks warily.

Lulu stops walking just then as they reach what looks like a garage, and she looks at him seriously as she says, “The key to the Universe.”

\---

Dirk feels an unexplainable shudder of apprehension run down his spine as he and Samuel step out of the cab they’d taken to Chinatown. Or, well, they _were_ headed to Chinatown, but then Dirk had insisted they stop at the park Lucas had last caught sight of the Russians’ transport van.

“Don’t tell me you’re still trying to find Norton,” Samuel says warily as he joins Dirk at the entrance of the park after paying their fare.

“No, it’s not Norton,” Dirk says, although he wonders if that’s entirely true himself. “I had a hunch; we’re supposed to be here.”

“Mm-hm,” Samuel says skeptically, looking around them. “There’s nothing here but people, Dirk. And dogs. Lots of dogs walking today.”

Dirk shoots him a look, but before he can say anything, there’s a man’s voice shouting angrily in the distance, “ _NORTON FOLGATE_!”

Dirk’s eyes widen and he whirls around to find a man in a geatcoat running towards them from the distance, his face angry and promising murder. Dirk squeaks in alarm, quickly scrambling to hide behind Samuel, grabbing his jacket and peeking meekly over his left shoulder. Samuel throws his hands up between them and the approaching man as he reaches them.

“What’re you doing here, you little shit?” the man says angrily as he stops in front of Samuel, eyes locked on Dirk. “Aren’t you supposed to be missing?”

“Hey, watch your language,” Samuel says chidingly. “What did the kid ever do to you?”

The man raises a brow at him, scoffing as he crosses his arms over his chest. “Listen, I don’t know what he’s told you, but he’s a _lying_ , _backstabbing_ asshole,” he says flatly. “Whatever he’s promised you? It’s not worth it, trust me.”

“Is he an ex, Dirk?” Samuel asks Dirk wryly, and Dirk shakes his head furiously. “Never met him before,” he says with a shrug.

The man’s face contorts with disbelief at the exchange but before he can say anything, another man stumbles up to his side, blond, tall and broad-shouldered, and generally _huge_. He’s huffing and panting for breath, resting a hand on the other man’s shoulder and leaning against him.

“J-Jack,” the man gasps before he lets go of the other man’s shoulder and bends down, leaning his hands on his knees and inhaling long and loud before straightening back up. “Jack, we’ve talked about this; I am not equipped to be running about unfamiliar streets after you without warning. _Please_ , can’t we just _walk_ like normal people?” he groans in a English accent.

“Is your friend alright?” Dirk asks curiously, watching the newcomer’s red face as he continues to pant heavily. He looks like he’s about to drop any second.

The said man glances over at him at the question, and then his eyes widen with disbelief.

“ _Norton_?” he gasps, his brows furrowing. “God, what did you do to your _hair_?”

And Dirk finally gets it. “Oooh,” he says, looking over at the other, dark-haired man. “You think I’m _Norton_ ,” he says, just to clarify.

The dark-haired man raises a brow at him. “What are you playing at?” he asks suspiciously.

Dirk lets go of Samuel’s jacket and steps out from behind him. “I’m _not_ Norton,” he says firmly. Squinting between the two stranger, he adds, “And you’re from… _Torchwood_ , I’m guessing?”

“Cut the crap,” the dark-haired man snaps impatiently. “What, don’t tell me you got amnesia and forgot about _me_?”

Dirk snorts at that. “He would prefer it if that were the case, I think,” he says offhandedly. “But no, I told you, I’m _not_ Norton. My name is Dirk Gently, and I’m a Holistic Detective.”

“What’s a holistic detective?” the blond man asks, shrugging when the other man shoots him a disapproving look.

Dirk grins widely at the question. “I am _very_ glad that you asked, Mr?” Dirk pauses, looking at the man questioningly, and he helpfully supplies, “Andy, Andy Davidson,” and Dirk nods a thanks before continuing excitably, “Mr. Davidson! You see, the term ‘holistic’ refers to my convictions about the fundamental interconnectedness of all things; I do not concern myself with such petty things as fingerprint powder, telltale pieces of pocket fluff and inane footprints. I see the solution to each problem as being detectable in the pattern and web of the whole. Once I am hired, I am intrinsically connected to a specific case, and will eventually solve the mystery surrounding it by sort of doing whatever.”

The two strangers stare at him wordlessly following his spiel, but Dirk’s grin doesn’t falter even a bit.

“He’s pretty good at it,” Samuel adds reassuringly and Dirk pats his shoulder in thanks.

“Wait,” the dark-haired man says, shaking his head and frowning deeply. “So, you’re really _not_ Norton?” he asks.

Dirk shakes his head. “No, although this misunderstanding has been occurring very frequently as of late, so you shouldn’t beat yourself up too much about it,” he tells the man sagely.

“But you _do_ know him?” the blond, Andy, cuts in, and he sounds sort of concerned. “Have you _met_ him?”

Dirk glances between the two men before asking, “If I said no, would you believe me?”

“No,” the two of them answer in unison and Dirk sighs.

“Are you here to… help him?” Dirk asks slowly, looking between them again. “It’s just that, you,” he points at the dark-haired man, “seem quite intent on causing him bodily harm, and Norton is, well, _special_ to me, and I don’t think I’d like that.”

“You don’t know what he’s done,” the dark-haired man starts angrily, but Andy stops him with a hand on his shoulder.

“Look,” Andy says, far more calmly, as he looks at Dirk. “Norton’s, um, _complicated_ , to put it nicely.” He hesitates as he adds, “You’re right, we’re from Torchwood. But Torchwood isn’t the same as it used to be, and I think that Norton was involved in that. We’re here to investigate some illegal alien arms trading, but if Norton’s here, we - no, _I_ would really very much appreciate it if you could point us to him so I could ask him to explain some things.”

He seems very sincere with what he’s saying, and Dirk stares at him for a long moment, trying to decide.

“I like to think that Norton and I were sort of friends, at some point,” Andy adds, shooting the other man a dirty look when he snorts derisively at that.

Samuel raises a brow at them, and then a thought occurs to Dirk.

“By alien arms trading, are you by any chance referring to a sonic screwdriver?” he asks them, and the dark-haired man squints at him suspiciously.

“Is Norton behind it?” he asks in a dark tone.

Dirk glares, shaking his head. “ _No_ ,” he says. “But we might know who is.”

The man points a finger sternly at Dirk as he says, “Explain, pretty boy. _Now_.”

Dirk stares at the finger in his face, telling the man, “Actually, we’re a little short on time at the moment. Walk with us?”

They do.

Walking towards Chinatown, Samuel explains to the dark-haired man - Jack Harkness, apparently - and Andy the events that surrounded the arrival of the sonic screwdriver in New York. Dirk tries his best to explain the Circle and the Russians without mentioning the Committee, knowing that it’s not his story to tell, and avoids that part of the topic by bringing up Blackwing and their holistic projects.

“Alright, I get that America apparently has its own conspiracies and secret organisations here,” Andy says once Dirk and Samuel are done. “But that still doesn’t explain how Norton’s involved, or how the Russian mob had gotten their hands on a sonic screwdriver in the first place.”

“Norton sold it to them, probably,” Jack muses, and Dirk shoots him a dirty look.

“Norton has been with me since he got here,” he says defensively. “I think I would have noticed if he’d sold an illegal alien weapon to the Russian mob. We weren’t even anywhere near New York when it happened.”

Jack shrugs in response. “He’s pretty sneaky,” he says.

“The Circle took him because they think he’s _me_ ,” Dirk says irritably. “If anything, I owe him my life, so please stop accusing him of things he _didn’t_ do.”

“He’s done other worse things,” Jack snaps back, angry. “Like I said; whatever he’s promised you, it’s not worth it. He’s going to stab you in the back when you least expect it.”

“He’s had plenty of chances and he hasn’t yet,” Dirk scoffs. “Maybe _you_ just deserved it.”

Jack glares daggers at him for that, but Samuel stops abruptly and all three of them stop behind him.

“We’re here,” Samuel says, pointing at the giant archway across the street from them, with red neon lettering happily announcing ‘WELCOME TO CHINATOWN’. He looks back at Dirk questioningly. “Where to, sweetheart?”

And Dirk feels three pairs of eyes boring into him as he stares at the crowded streets beyond the archway.

“Just keep walking,” he mutters as he walks past Samuel, not a clue as to where he’s headed, but the other three men follow behind him, none the wiser.

\---

“You’re not Dirk Gently,” is the first thing Norton hears as he, Lulu and the Asian girl - Eren, he’s learnt - walks into the main building of a Buddhist temple in Chinatown.

There’s a raised square at the end of the large stone room they’ve entered, and a stone high-backed seat at the top of it. On it sits a long, black-haired woman with sharp, thin features and equally sharp, narrowed eyes. She stares down coldly at them as they approach the square, standing up when they reach the foot of it.

“What do you mean, Ingres?” Lulu asks her, confused. “It’s Icarus, isn’t it?”

The woman, Ingres, ignores her in favour of staring intently at Norton as she walks down the steps from the square.

“What’s your purpose, child?” Ingres asks him as she stops in front of Norton.

Norton feels _unclean_ under her stare, and she reminds him inexplicably of Eli. Ingres tilts her head towards Lulu when Norton doesn’t answer her.

“Lulu,” she says simply.

Norton sees Lulu frown slightly, raising a hand, palm-out, towards Norton hesitatingly, and Norton gasps as he feels _something_ move into his head, like a hand slipping in between his ears and wrapping around his brain. It’s not painful, but it’s immensely uncomfortable, and he grabs at his head with both hands as he stumbles backwards.

He hears Lulu gasp, taking a step back from him, and the feeling in his head disappears abruptly.

“Th-there’s something in his head,” Lulu says with something like horror. “It’s _awful_ , Ingres!”

Norton inhales slowly as he drops his hands back down by his sides, and looks up to glare at Ingres, whose gaze is now more curious than anything else.

“Not Icarus, but something else,” she muses aloud. “Tell me, Norton Folgate; what did the Universe tell you?”

Norton purses his lips, refusing to tell her anything, and he flinches but doesn’t move away when she reaches a hand up to his face and traces her fingers down his cheek, to his chin. Her touch feels cold, and it makes the feeling in Norton’s chest clench painfully.

“Come with me,” she says suddenly, dropping her hand and turning on her heels.

She strides down an arch in the stone wall to the left of the square, and Lulu takes Norton’s arm apprehensively, tugging him after the woman. They walk down a dimly-lit terracotta corridor that leads out into another room, large and circular, but bare save for a single large chest in the centre. Ingres bends down to unlatch it, tossing the lid open.

Norton’s barely taken two steps into the room behind Lulu before his wrist flares painfully like it’s been set on fire, and he gasps, tearing his other arm out of Lulu’s hold to clutch at his burning wrist to his chest.

“What’s wrong?” Lulu asks him in alarm, but Norton’s too busy biting back any cries of pain, dropping to his knees as he bends over, the clenching in his chest tightening further.

He can’t _breathe_ , and it feels like forever, but eventually, the burning cools down, and the feeling in his chest disappears like it was never there.

In fact, he suddenly feels unfathomably _empty_ as his wrist throbs, like there’s something missing in his chest, and it takes a long moment for Norton to realize that he’s not _feeling_ anything. _The spell_ , he thinks faintly. _The spell’s worn off_.

_The Mark is back._

“You’re connected to the key,” Ingres says suddenly, and Norton looks up at her slowly, apprehensive at the glint of smug pleasure in her dark eyes. “Even better than Icarus.”

“Ingres?” Lulu asks hesitatingly, but Ingres shakes her head.

“I have to speak with Killian and Michael,” she says, walking swiftly towards where they’d come from. “Watch him, and don’t let him leave.”

Norton listens to her clicking away, waiting until the sounds have faded far enough before he struggles back to his feet and stumbles towards the chest. Lulu makes an alarmed sound, following him, hovering with uncertainty by his side as Norton looks down into the chest with dread.

It’s the war-machine. Surprisingly smaller than he’d expected, but the throbbing in his wrist has become an insistent pull to touch the thing, and he knows without a doubt that the thing that looks like an innocent, ordinary black _glove_ is no more harmless than a nuclear warhead waiting to be detonated.

He lets out a broken, sardonic laugh, rubbing a hand over his face as he falls down onto the ground, leaning against the side of the chest tiredly.

“Are you okay?” Lulu asks hesitantly.

Norton shakes his head, looking up at her with a wry smile. “Do you know what that is?” he asks rhetorically, and Lulu’s barely finished shaking her head in denial before he adds, “That’s my murder weapon. That’s how I die.”

Lulu’s brows furrow in confusion, and she glances at the machine before looking back at Norton. “I don’t- what do you mean? Ingres said that that’s the key to saving the world,” she says.

Norton snorts, shaking his head. “Did she?” he says bitterly. “Did she also tell you that it’s an alien war-machine that can kill every single person on the planet with a single click of a button?”

Lulu’s eyes widen, and she looks back at the machine. “But- but it’s just a key,” she says weakly.

“It’s not,” Norton says, more harshly than he’d intended, and Lulu flinches back from him. “ _I’m_ the key, and that thing is just begging for me to turn it on.”

Lulu doesn’t look like she believes him and Norton says, “You saw it, Lulu. When you looked inside my mind. You _saw_ how evil it is. Who do you want to believe? Yourself, or that woman that thinks she knows better than everyone else?”

Lulu pales visibly at the reminder, and Norton feels unfamiliar hope blossoming through the pit of self-pity he’s throwing himself into.

“It’s dangerous, Lulu,” Norton says softly. “Ingres has no idea what it is, or how to use it. She’s meddling in things that she can’t understand. I need to stop this. _You_ need to stop this.”

Lulu swallows hard as she looks at him, her eyes wide and full of doubt. “The road to hell, Lulu,” Norton reminds her pleadingly. “Millions will die if Ingres uses me to activate that thing. Do you want to be a part of that?”

Lulu purses her lips, her eyes watering, and Norton thinks he might have pushed too hard, too fast, until she takes a deep breath and nods once, curtly. She leans down and helps Norton to his feet.

“Please don’t make me regret this,” she says desperately to him.

Norton pats her on the shoulder comfortingly as he tries to stand straight. “I can promise I’ll try my best,” he says dryly.

“Best I can hope for at this point,” Lulu mutters under her breath as she moves away from him and towards the doorway.

Norton grabs her hand before she can get far, and Lulu turns towards him questioningly.

“Can you help grab that, maybe?” Norton asks, pointing back at the war-machine. “I don’t quite dare touch it myself. In case I activate it accidentally. But leaving it in Ingres’s hands would be remiss of us.”

Lulu’s face dawns with realization, and she nods before going over to the chest and grabbing the glove quickly, stuffing it into the pocket of her jeans.

“Follow close and try not to make any noise,” Lulu tells him as she goes to the door.

Norton nods, even though she can’t see, and they’re just outside the room when Eren materializes in front of them suddenly, and Norton runs into Lulu’s back as she stops.

“What are you doing, Lulu?” Eren asks, looking at her, and then at Norton behind her warily.

Lulu tenses up visibly, and Norton hears her say pleadingly, “Please don’t try to stop me, Eren. I don’t want to hurt you.”

Eren frowns at her, but Lulu raises a hand before she can do anything, and Norton watches with shock as Eren’s eyes roll up into her head and she falls onto the ground, unconscious.

“I’m _sorry_ ,” Lulu says, sounding agonized, but she sidesteps Eren’s body and gestures at Norton to follow her.

Norton does, but stops over Eren, bending down and pulling the sonic screwdriver out of her back pocket. He stuffs it inside his own jacket before rushing after Lulu.

They make it all the way to the main room without any hassle, but there are two unfamiliar women in there this time - both with the Circle tattoos - and Lulu pulls Norton quickly behind the raised square as they walk towards the hallway leading to the room with the chest, barely missing them.

“Honestly, Adara,” one of the women is saying, elderly with grey hair. “I’m far past my age to be rushing about after these youngsters.”

The other woman next to her, extremely tall and willowy, replies in a low voice, “You’re exaggerating, Lynnea. You’ve got more strength in your bones than the whole Circle put together.”

“Yes, but still,” Lynnea replies with a huff.

Lulu pulls Norton along as their voices fade away down the corridor, and he can see that she’s terribly afraid. He pulls out of her hold to grab her hand instead, squeezing comfortingly, and gives her an encouraging nod when she looks back at him questioningly.

“Thank you,” he tells her with as much sincerity as he can muster, and Lulu’s cheeks colour before she turns back to face forward, but she squeezes his hand back as they run.

The streets are crowded with people as they exit the temple, and Lulu leads him down a street and into an alley where there’re a million stalls selling counterfeit items before she finally stops.

“Where do we go?” she asks him worriedly. “Do you have a plan? ‘Coz I only thought as far as here.”

“I have friends that can help,” he tells her. “They’re at a hotel, in the city. If we can get back there, we can regroup and get the hell out of New York.”

Lulu nods, looking massively comforted. “What’s the name of the hotel?” she asks.

Norton’s about to tell her when the sound of gunshots ring through the air, and people start screaming and running and everything goes tits-up.

\---

They’ve been walking past several stores and street booths for what feels like hours when Jack finally confronts Dirk about where, exactly, they’re going, just as they pass by an alley full of stalls selling counterfeit branded products.

“I don’t know?” Dirk tells him sheepishly, and Jack groans.

“We’ve been walking around for _nothing_?” he says. “You were so sure before!”

“I told you, I sort of just do whatever,” Dirk says. “Eventually, I end up where I need to be.”

“That’s not good enough,” Jack argues, frowning.

“That’s how it works,” Samuel tells him, stepping between him and Dirk protectively. “We’re open to any better ideas you might have, handsome.”

Jack rolls his eyes, but then Andy, who’s facing the opposite direction from them, makes an alarmed sound.

“Is that normal?” he asks, pointing at something down the street, and they all turn to see three black cars driving rapidly down the street, narrowly avoiding hitting several people.

The cars stop haphazardly yards away from them, and Dirk’s eyes widen when men in black suits step out, armed with AK-47s.

“Get down!” Jack shouts, pulling Andy with him as he drops down to the ground himself, and Dirk squeaks as Samuel does the same with him.

They manage to avoid the hail of bullets aimed for them, and Jack crawls quickly towards the alley and under one of the stalls, shouting at them to follow him. They do so in less graceful fashion, and Dirk almost gets shot a few times before he manages to get behind the stall with the others. The shots stop, but there are people running around in panic, and it’s utter chaos.

“I think it’s the Russians!” Samuel yells over the sound of people screaming and shouting.

“Great!” Jack shouts back in response. “Who wants to go over and ask them for the sonic screwdriver?”

No one answers him, because the Russians have started shooting again, and they all run down the length of the alley, keeping behind the stalls and clumsily avoiding people and racks of counterfeit products that have fallen over. Dirk trips over a pair of fake Nikes, and makes a sound of alarm when a bullet that would’ve hit him flies over his face.

Samuel grabs him by his shoulders and starts dragging him along, keeping low to avoid bullets, and it’s not until they reach the other mouth of the alley that Samuel pulls Dirk up to his feet.

“Sorry,” he says, but Dirk’s attention is held by two people across the street, stationery amidst the sea of other people running around.

“NORTON!” Dirk shouts excitedly, and one of the people turns, and yes, Dirk wants to scream with joy, because it _is_ him.

Norton looks confused as he looks around, trying to find the source of his name being shouted, and Dirk pushes past Samuel and through the throngs of people to reach him. He stops halfway when there’s a loud crash to the side, down the street, and he turns to see a lamp post embedded into the ground. There’s also a line of clothes burning brightly along the second-floor of a shophouse building, and Dirk’s sight zeroes in on two unfamiliar women walking down the middle of the street, one old and the other thin and tall. They’re both staring back at him as they approach, and Dirk sees one of the thin woman’s hands is on fire. Both of them also have the black tattoos around their necks.

“Dirk!”

Jack and Andy appear next to him, Samuel right behind them, and Dirk points over at the two women.

“The Circle!” he shouts in panic. He looks over to where he’d seen Norton, but he’s gone. “I saw Norton, he was just there!”

They all flinch when there are more gunshots, and Samuel grabs Dirk by the arm and starts pulling him along down the street, away from the Circle women. Jack and Andy follow behind them, and Dirk’s looking around frantically among the sea of other people for any sight of Norton.

“Norton’s here, we have to find him!” Dirk shouts at Samuel.

Samuel shakes his head as he shoulders through other people running past them, shouting back, “We have to get away from here first!”

Someone runs smack dab into Dirk, and he falls backwards onto the ground on his ass with them in his lap. It’s an Asian man, and he screams something in Dirk’s face before he scrambles back to his feet and runs off, and Dirk’s stunned for a moment before Samuel pulls him back to his feet.

“There’s no way to find anyone in this stampede!” he shouts, pulling Dirk along the street again.

They push and shove their way until they reach an intersection at the end of the street, where the crowd is less dense, and Jack and Andy are a couple of feet ahead of them. Dirk and Samuel join them, panting and heaving for breath.

“It’s utter chaos back there,” Andy gasps, looking perplexed. “I’ve never seen anything like it since-”

“Since the outbreak in Cardiff, except no one’s biting anyone’s faces off,” Jack finishes for him, shaking his head as he looks back at the crowd they’d escaped from. “Looks like we lost the Russians, though.”

“The Circle people,” Dirk says, panting. “I saw two of them, they’re probably fighting each other thinking the other has me.”

“Dirk?” someone shouts, and Dirk turns to see Norton running towards them.

“Norton!”

Dirk runs towards him, and they crash into each other in the middle of the street, laughing loudly with relief, and Dirk squeezes Norton so hard that he thinks he might be crushing his spine, but he’s so happy that he can’t stop himself.

“I’m sorry,” they both say in unison as they part, and Norton smiles widely at Dirk, shaking his head.

“I'm sorry I kissed that asshole,” he says in a wobbly tone.

Dirk tears up at the apology - even though it's completely unnecessary - and pulls Norton back into another hug. “I didn’t think you liked pompous jerks, anyway,” he says and Norton huffs out a wet laugh against his shoulder.

“Oh my god, there _are_ two of them,” Dirk hears Andy say with disbelief behind him, and Norton pulls away from him abruptly.

“ _Andy_?” Norton gasps. “What are _you_ doing here?”

Dirk turns around, and Norton catches sight of Jack and Samuel.

“Oh, _fuck_ ,” Norton says flatly when he sees Jack.

Jack shoots him a glare. “Norton,” he says stiffly.

“It’s flashbacks now, is it?” Norton asks no one in particular, looking visibly annoyed. “Well, fuck you, Universe, thanks for the warning.”

Dirk looks over at him and freezes when he sees a red haired woman standing behind Norton, the black tattoo around her neck. Dirk grabs Norton and pulls him behind him instinctively, shielding him from her.

“Stay away!” Dirk says to her as bravely as he can manage, and the woman flinches back from him with a shocked look on her face.

“Dirk, no,” Norton says behind him, grabbing his shoulder. “That’s Lulu, she helped me escape.”

Dirk looks back over his shoulder at him with disbelief, but Norton ignores him, moving past him to hold a hand out to the woman. She takes his hand slowly, looking at Dirk with uncertainty, and Norton pulls her close to his side.

“We have to get away from here,” Norton tells them urgently. “The Circle killed Petrushev, and I’m sure they think _we’re_ involved.”

Samuel groans at that, but before anyone can say anything, a white van speeds down the street towards them, screeching to a stop just a few feet away. The driver’s door opens and Priest steps out from it.

“Get in!” he tells them curtly as he pulls the back doors open, and Lucas waves at them from inside with a smile. “Frae called us. Y’all got a lot of explainin’ to do.”

\---

They’re all gathered at the pier near Riverside Park half an hour later.

The ride had been immensely uncomfortable, with Norton too tired to talk and deal with Jack’s accusing stare at the same time. He’d refused to say a word, curling up against Dirk’s side instead, one hand still clutched tight in Lulu’s, who was sitting on his other side stiffly. Samuel and Andy had been the only ones talking, discussing the pros and cons of American public transport, of all things, and Lucas had been busy keeping an ear out for any talk about them on the Russian network.

“Well, the good news is that the Circle pretty much killed off most of the Russians,” Lucas says when Priest pulls to a stop at the pier. “At least that solves one problem for us.”

It’s not much of a comfort, seeing as they’re not going to be staying in New York for much longer, anyway, but Norton appreciates his effort to lighten the mood.

“I need to speak with Jack and Andy alone,” Norton tells Dirk when they’re all out of the van.

Samuel is filling things in for Priest and Lucas near the back of the van, while Andy and Jack are standing at the pier, waiting for Norton.

Dirk frowns at that, and looks like he’s about to argue, but Norton shakes his head. “Please, Dirk,” he says quietly. “I owe them that much.”

Dirk frowns harder, if anything, but he nods, eyeing Jack over Norton’s shoulder with mistrust. “If he so much as raises his voice, I’m siccing Priest on him,” Dirk promises darkly.

Norton chuckles at that, pecking him briefly on the cheek, and Dirk gets a startled look on his face, blushing lightly.

“Talk to Lulu for me,” Norton says, glancing at Lulu, who’s standing a little ways away from the rest of them, staring down at her hands morosely. “She’s nice, I think you’d like her.”

“She was with the Circle,” Dirk says, his shoulders hunching.

Norton rolls his eyes. “ _I_ was with the Committee,” he points out. “We all make mistakes. I owe her my life, you know.”

Dirk purses his lips, but nods curtly. “Fine,” he relents. “I suppose she can’t be as bad as Bart. At least _she_ hasn’t tried to kill me.” He makes a face as he adds, “Yet.”

Norton grins at him, and Dirk smiles back before turning on his heels and walking over towards Lulu, who looks up with a shocked look on her face when Dirk calls her name. Taking a deep breath, Norton turns around himself and walks over to Jack and Andy.

“What is going on?” Jack demands when Norton’s within earshot. “You realize Torchwood’s got a 50-year-old arrest warrant out for you, right?”

Norton huffs, crossing his arms over his chest defensively. “Yes, _Captain_ , I am _wildly_ aware,” he says. “Why else do you think I’m in 2017?”

“Norton,” Andy says quietly, and Norton looks over at him, gaze softening. “I was right, wasn’t I? You were in cahoots with the Committee the whole time.”

Norton purses his lips, feeling guilty all over again. After a moment, he sighs. “I’m sorry, Andy,” he says, looking away. “I’ve got no excuses to give you.”

“What were you thinking?” Andy asks, sounding exasperated. “You told me they were in charge, and I _believed_ you. I thought- when Jack said you’d ‘disappeared’, I thought you were _dead_.”

Norton flinches at the betrayal in Andy’s voice. “I might as well be,” he says bitterly. “I _was_ working for the Committee. But as it turns out, there are some things even _I_ can’t stomach.”

“That’s hard to believe,” Jack snorts derisively, and Norton rolls his eyes.

“The Mark of Cain,” Norton says, and Jack’s expression goes slack with surprise. “I’ve got it. The Committee wanted me to use it to save themselves from extinction in the future, but I’d thought they were planning to use it in 1953. I quit. They didn’t take kindly to that, of course, but they left me alone until 1966.”

“You killed a Torchwood agent in 1967,” Jack says quietly, thoughtfully, and then his eyes widen and he huffs out a sardonic laugh. “Oh, don’t tell me; they sent a _mole_ to you didn’t they?”

Norton closes his eyes tightly, clenching his jaw. “Yes,” he bites out. “Jeremiah Bash Henderson. We fucked, and then he fucked me over.” Jack snorts at that, and Norton’s eyes fly open to glare at him. “I killed him,” he continues scathingly. “Strictly for my own personal pleasure, but the Committee had counted on it. They used that as an excuse to ‘apprehend’ me without drawing any attention to themselves. Also, as it turns out, he had clones of himself, and the Committee had him revived, sent him here after me. He’s the one that gave the Russian mob the sonic screwdriver.”

Jack looks alarmed, then. “It’s fake, though, right?” he says. “Torchwood DC contacted me personally to deal with it. I thought it might have been the Doctor, but there weren’t any reports of the TARDIS.”

Norton shrugs. “We nicked it from the Russians so you can take it back with you and find out,” he says.

“How generous of you,” Jack said sarcastically.

“I just don’t want anything to do with Torchwood anymore,” Norton snaps back irritably.

“So, what now?” Andy asks him, and Norton looks over at him, feeling guilty again at the concern on his face.

“We go our separate ways,” Norton says. “Look, I’m sorry I got you caught up in all this, Andy.”

“It’s not completely _your_ fault,” Andy says dismissively. “ _I_ wanted to join Torchwood.” He frowns as he adds, almost to himself, “I just never thought it would be so _political_.”

Norton and Jack snort derisively in unison, and Norton says wryly, “If there’s one thing Torchwood’s taught me, it’s that _everything’s_ political where humans are concerned.”

“And aliens,” Jack adds, shaking his head. He looks at Norton contemplatively before he adds, “I swore I’d kill you the next time I saw you.”

Norton shrugs carelessly. “You can try,” he says. “But the Mark’s pretty insistent on keeping me alive.”

“And those ‘holistic’ people,” Jack says, making quotation marks in the air with his hands. “Kid looks _exactly_ like you.”

Norton sighs heavily. “That’s a whole other mess I’ve found myself in,” he says miserably.

“He cares about you,” Andy pipes in, raising a brow at Norton.

“And it’s going to get him killed,” Norton says, looking down to glare at his feet. “Look, I would rather stick my head-”

“In an oven than talk about it, I know,” Andy finishes for him exasperatedly. “Just when I thought you’d actually changed.”

Norton looks back up at him with a smirk. “What’s there to change?” he says rhetorically.

Andy rolls his eyes, but it’s fond, and he smiles sadly afterwards. “Are you sure you don’t want to clear your name?” he asks cautiously.

Norton touches his left wrist and shakes his head. “As long as I’ve got the Mark in me, the Committee will keep trying to activate its war-machine,” he says quietly. “I think it’s in everyone’s best interest if Torchwood just forgot about me.”

“You can’t keep running forever,” Jack warns him. “Trust me, I _know_. Torchwood’s relentless. _The Committee_ is relentless. They’ll keep sending people after you until they get what they want.”

“And I’ve been told many times that I’m very light on my feet,” Norton says, shrugging. “I find I’m quite good at running away from my problems.”

Jack shakes his head at that, but doesn’t push, and Andy lets out a loud sigh before throwing his arms out by his sides and looking at Norton expectantly.

“Well, if this is goodbye, don’t I at least deserve a goodbye hug?” he asks obviously when Norton raises a questioning brow.

Norton smirks, teasing, “Sargeant Davidson, how _cheeky_ of you!” but he does step forward and wrap his arms around the larger man’s waist, hugging him tight.

“I think I sort of missed your useless commentary,” Andy tells him as they part what seems like forever later. “It’s just not the same, running for my life without you telling me how bad I am at doing it.”

“Is he _still_ bad at doing it?” Norton asks Jack.

“Like a baby taking its first steps,” Jack affirms, earning a glare from Andy.

“I take offense to that, considering I saved _your_ life just last week!” he says defensively.

“I can’t die, so it’s basically as useful as turning on the lights in the middle of the day,” Jack retorts.

“Oh, of all the ungrateful-” Andy starts with outrage before stopping and making a frustrated sound, his hands held up in front of him like he’s strangling the air. “Argh!”

“Norton!” Priest shouts suddenly, and Norton turns to see him waving them over.

Norton turns back to Andy and Jack, looking between them fondly. “I think that’s our cue to break it up,” he says. “I’ll see you two in the next century?”

“If I don’t kill this smug bastard first,” Andy grumbles.

“I can’t _die_ , Andy, weren’t you listening?”

“Just- _shut up_ , Jack, and don’t think I can’t see you laughing, Norton. Both of you; _shut up_.”

\---

Jack and Andy leave in a cab, after Norton hands the sonic screwdriver over to Jack.

He waves them off, standing at the side of the road next to the park and watching the cab drive away until they turn a corner, out of sight. Norton stares after them for a moment longer before he turns back towards the pier, where the van is parked.

Everyone is gathered around the back of it, talking to each other, and Norton suddenly finds himself the recipient of five varying degrees of expectant stares. He tries not to let that put him off, and it’s easier when Dirk reaches out to take Norton’s hand in his when he gets close enough.

“Lulu,” Norton starts, and the redhead freezes with wide eyes where she’s standing on Dirk’s other side, looking over at Norton blankly. “Pass me the war-machine, will you, dear?”

Nodding jerkily, Lulu quickly digs it out from her pocket and hands it over to Norton, but she pulls it back slightly before Norton can take it from her, her brows furrowing as she looks at with uncertainty.

“I- Didn’t you say it’s dangerous for you to hold it?” she asks nervously, glancing around at everyone else.

Norton shakes his head. “I think it’s fine now,” he reassures her. “I’m not feeling particularly murderous.” Lulu looks doubtful of that, but she does hand it over to him.

Touching it feels simultaneously relieving and foreboding at the same time. It’s a strange combination of emotions that Norton can’t quite decipher, but it’s not as overwhelming as the urge to activate it had been before. The material of it feels like leather, but there’s a hint of something mechanical to it that leaves no doubt that it’s a machine of sorts, and Norton inspects it slowly, careful not to touch the hole where his hand is supposed to go in.

“ _That’s_ an alien war-machine?” Dirk asks skeptically next to him, and Norton nods.

“Not much to look at now,” he agrees. He looks away from it to glance at everyone, explaining, “This thing is the alien weapon capable of killing every human being on the planet.” He pauses and looks over at Lulu, asking, “Do you know how Ingres got her hands on it?”

Everyone turns towards her, too, and Lulu’s shoulders hunch over her ears timidly at the attention. “I don’t know,” she says meekly. “I- I’ve been with the Circle for a few years, but she doesn’t tell the rest of us much. We just follow her lead.”

“Lulu told me that Ingres, Killian and Michael formed the Circle with the sole purpose of creating a better world where psychics or people like us aren’t treated like rare, expensive toys to be played with and thrown away once broken,” Dirk cuts in, and Norton doesn’t miss her shooting him a grateful smile. “All three of them were Blackwing Projects, but they were recruited after Mr. Priest left, so he doesn’t know about them, either.”

“What, are they like a holistic version of the Brotherhood?” Lucas asks, sounding dumbfounded.

“With Ingres as Magneto, pretty much,” Lulu says wryly. She grimaces for a moment, adding in a quiet voice, “I didn’t think she would plan something as crazy as mass genocide, though.”

“I don’t think it’s as simple as that,” Norton cuts in, frowning thoughtfully. “Ingres called the machine a ‘key’. She didn’t know it was an alien weapon, but she _was_ looking for a key for something. The question is, to _what_.”

“Before, she used to tell us that it was the ‘key to the Universe’,” Lulu says helpfully. “She said that we needed to figure out how to use it, and once we did, we would be able to save the world.” She looks over at Dirk with a guilty smile. “That’s why we’ve been looking for _you_ ,” she tells him. “You’re the Detective, and everyone knows the Universe tells you how things work.”

Dirk looks surprised but then pleased at that, and Norton nudges him with his shoulder. “Any theories, Mr. Detective?” he asks him.

Dirk’s expression quickly falls, and he shrugs. “Not a one,” he admits. “I’ve never heard of anything of the sort.”

“Whatever it is, I don’t think it would mean anything good if Ingres got a hold of it,” Samuel says, then, with a shake of his head. “We got the war-machine from her, and the sonic screwdriver from the Russians. But what next?”

“Colorado,” Priest says, crossing his arms over his chest. “I got a text from Ms. Brotzman. Said we need to get there ASAP, before tomorrow. Didn’t mention why, and Frae called me about you guys before I could ask.”

“What did _Frae_ tell you?” Norton asks him.

“Told us where to find this van and to get you guys the fuck out of Chinatown,” Priest answers.

“Wait, are you guys talking about Frae _Lloyd_?” Lulu interrupts, looking surprised.

“Yes, her,” Norton says, and Lulu shakes her head, a look of disbelief on her face. “Why?” Norton asks her, one brow raised questioningly.

“It’s just, Ingres told us she died trying to get Icarus outside Oregon,” Lulu explains, wincing before adding, “Sorry, I mean Dirk.”

Dirk waves her apology away, shrugging. “She was very much alive when she helped Todd and Norton escape your villainy lair,” he says.

“Lulu, you’re a telepath, right?” Norton asks Lulu abruptly, a thought occurring to him. Lulu nods slowly, wary, and Norton asks, “Did you never read Ingres’s mind?”

Lulu’s eyes widen, then, and she shakes her head furiously. “I’m- I’m really not that good at it,” she admits. “And she’s got like, mental blocks of concrete or something. I- I always trusted her, so I never really needed to, either.”

Norton nods, asking instead, “What about mine, then? You saw the artefact’s presence inside it. Could you tell me exactly what you saw?”

The redhead pales considerably at that, and her bottom lip quivers as she answers him, “It was _awful_. Just- bad feelings all the way, like getting caught in a mob of angry homophobes. I don’t even know how _you’re_ being so civil with that mess in your head.”

Dirk squeezes Norton’s hand, and Norton glances at him, seeing the worried look on his face, realizing that he doesn’t seem to notice the action himself.

“I don’t feel it in my head,” Norton says to Lulu, shrugging.

Before anyone could say anything else, someone’s phone rings, and everyone turns to look at Priest, who rolls his eyes as he pulls out his phone from his pocket.

“Y’all really need to get your own,” he mutters irritably to himself as he answers the call with a curt, “Priest.” He chuckles lowly at whoever is on the other line and pulls the phone away from his ear, holding it in front of him as he puts it on speaker.

“ _Please tell me there are six of you over there_ ,” Frae’s monotonous voice rings out from it.

“Frae!” Lulu cries out, sounding relieved and happy. “God, Ingres told us you were dead!”

“ _Hi, Lulu_ ,” Frae replies, her voice barely changing tone as she adds, “ _I’m still breathing, don’t worry. Anyway,_ are _there six of you guys there_?”

“Yes?” Dirk tells her, glancing at Norton questioningly. Norton shrugs in response, not sure why she’s asking that, either.

“ _Good_ ,” Frae says. “ _Under the seat in the back of the van; there’s a hammer there. It’s a token. I need you all to touch it so I can bring you guys here_.”

“Where exactly is _here_ , in your terms?” Samuel asks her doubtfully, and Frae doesn’t miss a beat as she answers, “ _Boulder City, Colorado_.”

“Are you there with Amanda and the Rowdies?” Dirk asks excitedly.

“ _And your other friends_ ,” Frae confirms.

Dirk grins happily, letting go of Norton’s hand to scramble to the back of the van. He’s crawling around under the seat until he makes a triumphant sound and sits up on his knees holding an inconspicuous hammer up like it’s the Holy Grail. Priest helps him climb back out the van, and the six of them stare down at the tool as Dirk holds it out in front of them.

“Why a _hammer_?” Norton asks skeptically.

“ _It was the closest thing I could find at the time_ ,” Frae replies simply.

“Are you _sure_ it can transport all six of us, sugar?” Samuel asks.

Frae sighs irritably. “ _Yes, I’m_ sure _. Just touch it all at once, and you’ll be here in a second. Norton, Lulu; tell them, please_.”

“She’s never been wrong about it before,” Lulu agrees, reaching out to place her hand on the hammer. “Let’s get this over with, before Ingres figures out we’re still in New York.”

That’s certainly the best encouragement they could get, and the rest of them grab a hold of a part of the hammer firmly.

“ _Everyone touching_?” Frae asks.

“That sounds inappropriate, but yes,” Dirk tells her.

“ _Alright, close your eyes_ ,” Frae says.

Dirk glances between Norton and Priest before he closes his eyes, and the rest of them follow suit, just as a flash of light bursts before them.

“ _See you guys soon_ ,” Frae says, and that’s the last thing Norton hears before he blacks out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hiiii.
> 
> 1- I imagined Petrushev as [Konstantin Khabenskiy](https://www.imdb.com/name/nm0450975/?ref_=tt_cl_t1) when I wrote him; I blame it on [Night Watch](https://www.imdb.com/title/tt0403358/?ref_=nm_flmg_act_50). I read the (translated) books before I watched the movies, but they were all really good, legit - the occult world of this verse is _amazing_. It made me wanna learn Russian, but I failed spectacularly at that. *nervous laughter*
> 
> 2- [Jeremiah](http://tardis.wikia.com/wiki/Jeremiah_Bash_Henderson) is canonically Norton's boyfriend, I shit you not. He appears only in the special audio drama [Torchwood: Archive](https://www.bigfinish.com/releases/v/the-torchwood-archive-1470), that I know of. Not much is known about him, really, but he and Norton were working for the Committee together. No actual reference how long they had been together or anything, but Jeremiah is from the far future. 
> 
> 3- I'm sorry I can't write Jack and my Andy is based off of Ghost Mission and Goodbye Piccadilly. Jack's behaviour towards Norton is based off of Torchwood: Outbreak (he _really_ hates Norton; probably because Norton burnt him alive before and nearly gets Ianto killed multiple times in Outbreak, but yeah). THEY WON'T COME BACK, OKEH, THIS IS THE FINAL PART OF NORTON'S CHARACTER ARC so I won't be doing anymore injustice to Captain Jack's character, don't worry. No more surprise Torchwood characters save for Jeremiah and the Committee, and the war-machine/alien artefact shite that's already been mentioned.


	13. It's a waste to stop now.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The threesome action happens.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is literally just a smutty filler with Priest/Norton/Dirk because the plot is fighting me at every sentence and I can't seem to write the next chapter good enough for my liking. Soooo, in the meantime. HAVE SEX. You don't need to read this to understand what happens the rest of the fic.
> 
> It's sort of not explicit, but sort of is? Idk, the words 'cock' or 'penis' isn't even mentioned once, so I think that means it's not explicit. Maybe. Norton calls Priest a 'prick', though. 
> 
> WARNINGS: Light bondage, mild D/s, unprotected sex, cum-marking (kind of), handjobs, biting, bruising, graphic threats of torture. Priest and Norton are basically like animals - mostly Priest, but yeah. Violent foreplay, violent sex. Priest is pretty mean to Norton, too, because of what happened in New York. Norton might come off a bit dub-con, so, if you're sensitive to that, please don't read this chapter.

Norton wakes up in Priest’s arms, quite literally.

They’re moving, and he’s blinking up at the side of Priest’s face as the man carries him, not fully conscious enough to look around at where they are.

“Did you drug me?” Norton asks weakly, and Priest scoffs before glancing down at him.

“You passed out,” Priest tells him. “Is that how you’re feelin’? Drugged up?”

The inside of Norton’s mouth tastes like there’s been a cotton ball sitting inside it for hours, and his head feels heavy and light at the same time. He also can’t seem to quite move his arms, so he nods slowly in answer.

“A bit,” he says succinctly, sighing and leaning his head heavier against Priest’s shoulder. “What happened?”

“We’re at a hotel, in Boulder City,” Priest tells him, holding Norton tighter against himself. “Brotzman’s checkin’ us in. Svlad’s talkin’ to her about what happened in New York.”

Norton hums in response, his eyes falling shut without his consent. He feels drained, and all he really wants is to sleep right now, but Priest jostles him a bit.

“Don’t pass out yet,” Priest warns. “You might have a concussion.”

“‘m fine,” Norton mutters, glaring at him with half-lidded eyes. “Just tired. Didn’t hit my head, anyway.”

“You need to eat,” Priest says. “And drink somethin’. When’s the last time you had anythin’?”

Norton tries to think, but he can’t come up with a reasonable timeline, at least not without probably pissing Priest off, so he shakes his head briefly, wincing when the simple action causes his head to throb with pain. He’s saved the trouble of having to answer when Priest reaches what he assumes is their hotel room door, because Priest stops in front of it.

“Jacket pocket,” Priest tells him, and Norton musters up all the energy he can to dig one hand through the inside of Priest’s jacket and pulls out a keycard.

Priest shifts so that Norton can reach low enough to tap it against its lock and turn the knob before pushing the door open.

Inside, Priest puts him down on the king-sized bed gently, and Norton groans with appreciation as he rolls over onto his front, grabbing one of the other pillows and hugging it close against him and closing his eyes. He’s about to doze off to the sound of Priest moving about in the room when he startles awake at the feeling of hands grabbing a hold of his left ankle before pulling off his shoe and his sock, and Priest is in the process of doing the same to his right foot as Norton cranes his neck to look down at him.

He rolls over again onto his back when Priest is done, and watches as the man moves away from the bed to the dresser on the other side of the room, grabbing one of the bottles of mineral water on it before going back over to the bed. He sits down on the edge, by Norton’s left side, and uncaps it, holding it towards Norton.

Norton rolls his eyes at him, but sits up and takes it obediently as he throws the pillow he’s holding aside, too tired to argue. He doesn’t realize how parched he really is until he’s swallowing the cool liquid, and it tastes unbelievably good on his tongue. He nearly drains half of it by the time he stops, and Priest looks smug as he takes the bottle back from him and doesn’t bother to re-cap it, abandoning it on the bedside table instead.

“I’ll order room service,” he says as Norton drops back onto the bed, still tired, but a lot less lightheaded.

“Nothing that requires chewing, if you please,” Norton says with a face. “I might choke on it if I tried.”

Priest giggles, as he stands up, saying, “Duly noted,” before going back to the dresser and picking up the landline there.

Norton closes his eyes again and lets himself think of nothing, enjoying how soft the pillow under his head is and tuning out the sound of Priest’s voice speaking on the phone. He must have drifted off again, because the next thing he knows, he’s being enveloped in the warmth of another body over him, and he blinks blearily as he registers Priest straddling his waist and burying his face into the crook of Norton’s neck, his hands moving up Norton’s sides before slipping under Norton and curling possessively around his back and his waist.

“Svlad told me what happened,” Priest mouths against his neck, and Norton shivers at the feeling of his breaths and his lips against Norton’s skin.

“Which part?” Norton breathes out, somehow managing to reach his arms up to wrap them around Priest’s shoulders loosely.

Priest plants a couple of kisses against the side of Norton’s throat, and Norton instinctively tilts his head to give him more room, eyelids fluttering.

“Jeremiah,” Priest growls out, and Norton whimpers when he nips at the underside of Norton’s ear.

“J-jealous, petal?” Norton manages to say, and then the whole world tilts sideways and Norton finds himself lying on his side instead, facing Priest, the other man’s hands moving from his back down to his hips and pulling him close as he slips a leg between Norton’s.

“I told you to wait for me,” Priest says quietly, voice low and dangerous as he looks into Norton’s eyes, their faces so close that Norton thinks he’s going cross-eyed staring back at him.

“Sorry?” is all Norton can think enough to say, and then all his thoughts fly right out the window because Priest kisses him, hard and harsh, and Norton whines against his lips.

He’s acutely aware of Priest’s hands gripping him tightly, and Norton’s own are digging into his shoulders through Priest’s jacket, probably leaving permanent indents in the material with how forceful they are. When Priest breaks the kiss, Norton’s dazed, unable to do anything more than gasp helplessly when Priest starts attacking his neck again, kissing and biting until Norton’s sure there’s not an inch of skin left there that’s untouched.

Priest doesn’t stop, and he lets go of Norton’s left hip to grab Norton’s arm and pry it off of himself before he brings his hand up Norton’s chest and pushes his jacket - Dirk’s jacket - off Norton’s shoulder. He deftly continues to unbutton Norton’s shirt with one hand, and roughly shoves that off his shoulder, too, but he has no patience for Norton’s undershirt. He simply grips the round collar and tears it aside, and Norton gasps again as it pulls somewhat painfully against the back and the other side of his neck. Priest rears up to kiss him on the lips before he pulls away and takes a large bite of Norton’s exposed shoulder, and Norton chokes at the pain.

“P-Priest!” he huffs, trying to sound angry, but it’s a lost cause because he loses his breath, then, as Priest simply licks over the bite and kisses it surprisingly gently before he grabs a hold of both Norton’s hips once more.

Norton’s shoulder throbs with an odd sort of painful pleasure as Priest kisses him again, and Norton doesn’t know why it shocks him when he feels that Priest is hard against him as the other man rolls Norton’s hips against his own, but it _does_ , and Norton’s brain maybe shuts down completely because he can’t do anything more than mindlessly thrust his hips for more contact. Priest groans into his mouth, breaking the kiss to lean his forehead against Norton’s, and they’re both panting breathlessly as they stare into each other’s eyes.

“I’m going to kill him,” Priest says, hands tightening over Norton’s hips and rolling them again, and Norton is as hard as him by now, and he makes a choked sound while Priest continues, “Tie him down first, pull his nails off his fingers, one by one.”

Priest rolls them both over until Norton’s on top of him with wide eyes, chest to chest, thighs pressed tight against Priest’s sides, his arse nestled snugly against Priest’s hardness, his back arched and his face inches from Priest’s.

“Go for his toes when he runs out of fingers,” Priest grunts up at him, grinding Norton’s hips down, and Norton whimpers, from the pleasure, from the nasty words spilling from Priest’s lips.

It’s terrible, but he can’t bring himself to ask the other man to stop.

“Tear his lips off his face for _kissin’_ you,” Priest bites out through gritted teeth, and he lets one hand go of Norton’s hip to grab Norton’s chin harshly, pressing his thumb against Norton’s lips until Norton parts them and suckles hesitantly on it.

“Paint his blood on your lips so he can see how pretty you look in it before he dies,” Priest grunts with an upward thrust of his hips.

Norton whimpers around Priest’s thumb at the imagery, shaking his head, not quite sure whether it should turn him on as much as it does, but Priest holds his head still and pulls his thumb out of Norton’s mouth before pulling Norton’s face closer to his and kissing him again, all tongue and teeth.

“Maybe fuck you in front of ‘im, show ‘im who _really_ owns you,” Priest says breathlessly with a sharp grin when they part, letting go of Norton’s face and landing a hard smack on Norton’s arse that elicits a shocked yelp from him.

“You-!” Norton starts indignantly, but Priest is moving them again, up and over to the bottom of the bed, and Norton loses his breath getting forcefully pushed onto his back with Priest following closely after him.

Priest has let go of his hips, but he’s grabbing Norton’s thighs instead, spreading them apart almost painfully and shifting on his knees until their hips are locked together, and Norton forgets what he’d been about to say as Priest cups at his groin and _squeezes_ , and Norton’s lost to the feeling for a moment. Priest’s hand is all he registers, letting out a broken moan, his fingers digging into the velvet duvet of the bed under him, and then Priest lets go and leans down over him, catching his lips in another searing kiss as he starts rutting earnestly against Norton.

Norton doesn’t realise he’s closed his eyes until he opens them, when Priest breaks the kiss, and Norton faintly hears the sound of the room’s door clicking open. Alarmed, he turns his head to the side to look over at it with wide eyes, his hands flying up to Priest’s shoulders to push him off him, but Priest doesn’t budge, bent low over Norton’s half-bared chest and nibbling on his skin incessantly.

The door pushes open to reveal Dirk, and he freezes when he takes in the scene a mere few feet away from him, and Norton thinks his own face couldn’t burn any brighter if he’d tried.

“D-Dirk,” he gasps, back arching instinctively when a surge of pleasure assaults him as Priest rolls his hips against his at that moment.

Dirk doesn’t move, doesn’t even look like his breathing, but it’s like a switch flips behind his eyes as a blush spreads over his cheeks, and then he’s pushing the door shut behind him with one hand before he’s walking deeper into the room. Norton bites down on his bottom lip to stop a moan from escaping when Priest runs his tongue over his nipple, and his eyes are locked on Dirk’s as the other man approaches them.

Priest blessedly pulls away from Norton when Dirk’s by their side, but instead of getting off of him completely, Priest grabs a hold of the dark blue, pineapple-patterned tie Dirk’s wearing, jerks him down towards him, and kisses him, much gently than he’d been doing to Norton. Norton feels himself twitch under Priest as he watches them, feeling dazed at the sight of Dirk kissing Priest back.

The kiss ends with Priest smirking over at Norton, and he says, “Give me your tie, Svlad,” and Norton’s never seen Dirk move so fast as he rushes to loosen and pull it over his head and handing it over to Priest.

Priest shrugs his jacket off and rolls his shoulders as he looks down at Norton, who looks back at them both with weary apprehension.

“Might wanna lose your clothes, boy,” Priest tells Dirk casually before he reaches down to grab Norton by one shoulder, and Norton yelps when he’s shoved over onto his front.

“What the hell!” he huffs indignantly. The new position actually hurts, because his legs are still caught around Priest’s waist, but Priest quickly shifts around until Norton’s completely flat on the bed, and Norton knows what he’s planning to do when he straddles Norton’s waist from behind and catches his wrists, pulling them to the small of his back.

“Ngh- Priest, what do you think you’re _doing_!” Norton protests, squirming under him. Priest’s grip is firm around Norton’s wrists as Norton feels him start wrapping Dirk’s tie around them, and he feels a twinge of fear blossoming in his chest at being bound, of being in such a helpless position, even with Priest and _Dirk_ of all people.

Norton’s breathing shallowly by the time Priest is done, eyes squeezed shut tight as he tries not to panic, lips pursed. He feels hands carding through his hair - more sender than Priest’s, but no less warm and calloused - and bites back a whimper while fighting against the urge to lean into the touch desperately.

“It’s alright, Norton,” he hears Dirk say, followed by Priest, “Since you can’t listen to orders, gonna have to teach you a lesson.”

“Prick,” Norton snaps, eyes flying open and craning his neck to glare at Priest over his shoulder.

Norton gasps when Priest grinds down his hips in retaliation, and Norton drops his head back onto the bed, nearly biting his tongue in half as he clenches his jaw tightly, refusing to allow the man the satisfaction of a moan. It’s difficult, however, because his erection hasn’t flagged in the slightest and it’s pressing insistently against the mattress below him. Priest’s hard warmth against his arse together with the utterly wonderful pressure against his own erection is an overwhelming combination, and Norton immediately forgets about everything else besides the pleasure surging through his body.

He’s too out of it to notice Priest grabbing onto his hips again and pulling them up until he’s got his arse in the air, and then he’s literally exposed to the air as Priest starts stripping him of his pants and briefs before turning him over onto his back as Priest pulls them down his legs and off his feet. It’s uncomfortable, lying down against his bound hands, but it’s not _bad_ , and he stops caring about it at all when Priest takes Norton’s ankles into his hands and pulls one around his waist and another over his shoulder, and Norton feels so _defenceless_ and _vulnerable_ in the new position that he tenses up immediately, moving his legs to close them.

But Priest is having none of that; he keeps them in place with his hands on Norton’s knees, and Norton glares at him, although it’s probably not as threatening as he wants it to be, with how brightly he feels his face is blushing.

“Disobedient sluts don’t get to hide anythin’,” Priest says down at him at the same time he moves the hand on Norton’s knee - the one hanging off Priest’s shoulder - down the underside of Norton’s thigh, all the way until he’s cupping it around one of Norton’s cheeks, and he spreads it apart, his thumb teasing against Norton’s entrance.

Norton’s breath catches in his throat as he feels it keenly, the muscles in his leg tensing up, and he bucks off the bed, trying to pull away from Priest.

“Svlad,” Priest says, his hands tightening where they’re holding onto Norton.

Dirk’s hands are suddenly on Norton’s shoulders, holding him still, and Norton looks up at him with a betrayed look on his face, but Dirk ignores it, leaning down to catch Norton’s lips in a kiss. It’s gentle and comforting and encouraging at the same time, and Norton whimpers into it, body gradually relaxing despite the anxious fluttering of his heart in his chest.

“Good boy,” he hears Priest say, and Dirk breaks the kiss to shoot him a mildly annoyed look.

“You’re being unnecessarily cruel,” he says to Priest, at the same time he’s moving his hands, gently kneading them against Norton’s neck, his fingers scorching hot against Norton’s skin.

“Untie me,” Norton says to him, giving him his best pleading look, but Dirk turns to him with an apologetic smile.

“Can’t do that, Norton,” he says, leaning down to kiss him briefly before pulling away and getting off the bed - and when had he even gotten on it in the first place, Norton hadn’t even noticed - to go over to the other side of the room, out of Norton’s sight.

Norton’s attention is drawn back to Priest when he feels wet lips pressing against the inside of his thigh, and Norton watches as the man peppers it with several kisses before he draws back with a sharp smile and bites down into the meaty flesh there, and Norton’s whole body jerks at the pain. He squirms, gnawing at his bottom lip, trying hard not to moan, but Priest doesn’t play fair; he prods at Norton’s entrance at the same time, and Norton gasps, the moan following after quickly.

“B-bastard,” he breathes out after a moment, panting heavily, and Priest chuckles in reply.

Dirk re-appears, then, climbing onto the bed on his knees until he’s next to Priest, and he passes a bottle of lotion to him with the cap already open. Priest lets go of Norton’s knee around his waist to take it, and he tips the bottle over Norton, who hisses at the cold liquid and squirms away from it, but doesn’t get very far. Priest stops pouring the lotion on him to squeeze some into his other hand, quickly reaching back down to Norton’s entrance before Norton can even tense up.

Norton doesn’t get to react to the penetration, anyway, because Dirk’s got his hands wrapped around him now, and Norton’s vision blacks out at the feeling, warm and oppressively _good_ , and his head falls back against the mattress, his hips jerking uncontrollably. He’s not sure which part of him feels better, and amidst it all, his hands ache where they’ve been pushing against his back, but even that pain’s starting to twinge in time with the waves of pleasure that Dirk’s tugging out of him, and it’s all a whirl of confusing emotions.

“ _Norton_ ,” he hears Dirk groan breathlessly.

Norton blinks his eyes clear and sees him letting one hand go of Norton to reach clumsily inside his own pants, pulling himself out and jerking desperately. It’s impossibly erotic, watching _Dirk_ do something so _dirty_ , and Norton moans in response, wishing badly that he could touch him, too.

“Please,” Norton chokes out, “Let me, please, I’ll be good, so good, _please_ -”

He feels Priest withdraw his fingers, and he whimpers at the sudden, empty feeling that they leave behind, almost sobbing when Priest grabs a wet hold of his thigh over his shoulder and gives it a firm squeeze.

“You sure ‘bout that, darlin’?” Priest asks, and Norton nods frantically, his breath hitching when Priest unzips his own pants and then there’s something hot and hard pushing against his entrance, but it doesn’t move, just stays there enticingly, and Norton whimpers again, wriggling to push himself down towards it.

Priest chuckles lowly at that, the hand on Norton’s thigh moving down again to grab at his hip and stilling any movements. “What do you think, Svlad?” he asks Dirk. “You think he’s learnt his lesson?”

Dirk’s still got his hands full of himself and Norton, pumping more slowly now, but he huffs out a breath at Priest’s question and pauses.

“Not even a bit,” he tells Priest, and Norton glares at him half-heartedly before Dirk continues, “but it’s a waste to stop now, isn’t it?”

Priest chuckles again, planting a kiss on Dirk’s forehead - earning a pleased smile from the man - before he enters Norton in one firm, unhesitating thrust, and Norton’s back arches right off his hands and the bed.

Everything starts happening so fast that Norton’s not quite sure he knows what’s going on. Priest must’ve loosened him up thoroughly because Norton doesn’t feel anything besides the overwhelmingly wonderful feeling of being filled to the brim, and Priest pulls back out before swiftly starting to thrust away at a punishing pace. Norton can’t breathe with how good it feels, and he sobs aloud when Priest suddenly stops much too soon and pulls out completely, and Norton feels him coming all over his thighs.

“No-” he protests as Priest pulls away, gently resting Norton’s leg onto the bed, but then Dirk is swinging one leg over him, completely naked - and god, how could he be so _beautiful_ \- and grabbing Norton under him, holding him still as he sinks himself slowly down onto Norton. Norton gasps as he’s enveloped in Dirk’s warmth, squeezing so tight he almost comes immediately then and there, and Dirk’s expression could only be described as blissful as he settles on top of Norton snugly.

“D-don’t come yet,” Dirk tells him stutteringly, blushing all the way down to his pale chest, and Norton groans in reply, unable to form any words.

Dirk rests his hands on Norton’s chest and uses him as leverage to push off him before dropping back down, rolling his hips as he moans unabashedly, repeating the motions several times while Norton once again wishes he had use of his hands so that he could reach up to touch Dirk and make him feel as good as Norton’s feeling.

“Close,” Norton gasps up at him after a while, tensing up under him, and Dirk bends down and catches his lips in a bruising kiss as he pulls off of Norton.

Norton comes at the same time he feels splatters of wetness spilling between his belly and Dirk’s chest, and when Dirk breaks the kiss, he feels unfathomably more tired than before.

His whole body goes limp under Dirk, and when Norton’s eyes fall closed, he can’t seem to force them open again, all his energy going into trying to catch his breath and slow down his still-hammering pulse.

“Norton?” he faintly hears Dirk say with uncertainty, and Norton manages to hum softly in response.

Dirk makes an unintelligible sound, and Norton feels him shifting off him and then arms slipping under his shoulders before he’s leaning against Dirk’s bare chest, his face pressed into Dirk’s shoulder.

“Oz,” he hears Dirk say, followed by hands on his wrists, undoing the knots keeping them bound together.

“He’s fine,” he hears Priest say.

“Does this _look_ fine, to you?” Dirk asks with disbelief, and Norton whimpers weakly, because Dirk’s voice is far too loud in his ears. Dirk presses what Norton assumes is his nose into the top of Norton’s head, murmuring, “Sorry, sorry.”

“Let him sleep, he’ll be fine tomorrow,” Priest tells Dirk, and Norton hums in agreement, the only thing he has the energy left to do.

That, and reaching up one hand heavily to pat at Dirk’s chest. Except, patting it takes too much effort, so he just ends up holding it there, savouring the heat that’s radiating off of Dirk’s bare skin.

He doesn’t hear anything else after that, losing his fight against sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~~I felt so dirty after writing this, but then I read what I've written before in other fandoms and I'm just, haha, bitch this is so fucking tame in comparison.~~


	14. We've still got the apocalypse to avert.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The story continues in Colorado.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reference for Projects Herodias and Python can be found here: [Project Herodias](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15859788/chapters/38135183) & [Project Python](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15859788/chapters/38135585).
> 
> More Norton whump, and some angst among them. Violence typically related to fighting.

_Norton is dreaming again._

_He’s back in that room, no, the_ cell _that Blackwing had kept Dirk in, and he’s crying, curled up on the middle of the bed with his knees pulled up to his chin and his arms wrapped tight around his legs. His chest hurts badly, and his vision is blurred from the non-stop stream of tears flowing, and there are so many emotions filtering through his mind that it’s hard to discern what he’s really feeling._

 _The only thing he knows for sure is that he’s_ heartbroken _and all he wants is_ Oz _but he also knows that Oz is_ never coming back _._

 _“It’s not fair,” he sobs quietly to himself, burying his face in his arms, sniffling against them pathetically. “It’s not fair, it’s not fair, it’s not fair…” he keeps repeating, as if the sheer amount of times he says it will make it_ not _true._

_He knows something’s wrong when there’s a sudden shift around him, an abrupt, unnatural stillness in the air that’s palpable, and he freezes, his sobs ceasing long enough for him to look up slowly._

_There’s a man standing in front of his bed, thin and tall, with dark hair and eyes, and there’s something about him that makes him think the man must be_ dangerous _, and he scrambles backwards instinctively._

_“Hello, Dirk,” the man says kindly, adding, “Norton, too.”_

_Norton feel his - Dirk’s - eyes widen, and then he feels disoriented for a split moment, his vision doubling before snapping back into focus like a rubber band pulled taut and released, and then he’s suddenly no longer on the bed, but standing next to it, looking down at a teenaged Dirk. Dirk gapes up at him, and Norton feels lightheaded._

“What’s happening?” he asks faintly, one hand reaching up to clutch at his head, which is starting to ache terribly.

“Norton?” Dirk says with confusion, and then he makes a strangled sound and when Norton looks at him, he looks _older_ , somehow, but still physically young. “Norton!” he repeats, with more conviction, wiping furiously at his eyes and his cheeks before looking over at the third occupant of the room.

“This isn’t real, is it?” he asks the stranger rhetorically, rolling out of the bed and moving to Norton’s side. In a more confused tone, he asks, “Where _are_ we, exactly? Are we really in my dreams?”

The man shrugs. “Not technically,” he says, scratching his head. “You’re both in mine. Or, well, Norton’s supposed to be in mine, but you’ve sorta been hijacking this plane. Your wavelengths are off the charts.”

Dirk shares a perplexed look with Norton, but before they can ask the man to explain, he continues on.

“I’ve been trying to have a proper talk with Norton, and it’s a long story,” the man starts, scratching at his head. “But we don’t have that much time. To put it simply, I’m a- or, well, I _was_ a Holistic Thief. When I was alive, I could pull things through pocket dimensions and time rifts anywhere I was. And a long time ago, I pulled the Mark of Cain to help save the world - in 1492.”

Norton shares another look with Dirk, shaking his head confusedly in response when Dirk gapes at him disbelievingly, but the man doesn’t notice, continuing casually, “There was this huge monster thing back then, you see, and one of us made a pocket dimension to lock it up in there, because we didn’t know there was a way to kill it.” He stops and chuckles to himself, shaking his head. “Who knew the key I pulled to lock the dimension permanently could actually also control an alien weapon that could kill the monster? You’d think the Universe would’ve given me the weapon in the first place instead of just the stupid key.”

The man sighs, long and tired, and then looks Norton in the eyes, smiling sadly. “Ingres is gonna let that monster out,” he says. “And the Universe will let her. Because it’s not enough that it’s locked up; Universe wants you to kill it with the weapon.”

“What?” Norton breathes out, eyes widening.

“You’re the key-bearer now,” the man says. “It’s your job. Open the Door. Kill the monster. _Fix the Universe_.”

“I’ll die in the process,” Norton says, feeling hopeless. “But you knew that already.”

“I’m sorry, Norton Folgate,” the man says sincerely. “You can stop her before she unlocks the door. But if it’s not her, it’s going to be someone else. As long as that monster exists, there’s always going to be an Ingres Lith.” He tilts his head meaningfully in Dirk’s direction, adding, “There’s always going to be someone who wants to use and hurt Dirk.”

Norton shakes his head, jumping when Dirk puts a hand on his shoulder, and Dirk’s brows are furrowed with worry when Norton looks over at him.

“Why me?” he asks the man softly. “Why _Norton_? What _is_ this monster that you’re talking about? And if it’s so dangerous, what makes you think _we_ can stop it?”

The man smiles at Dirk, sure and confident when he says, “It’s your destiny,” the man answers simply. “You might not know what it is that you do, but you do it, anyway, exactly how the Universe needs you to.” Then he shrugs, adding, “Norton was just at the right place at the right time.”

The ground under them rumbles suddenly, then, and the man sighs.

“I guess that means my time’s up,” he says. He looks over at Norton, deadly serious again, and says, “Remember, Norton Folgate; you can stop Ingres, or you can kill the monster. It’s completely up to you. It’s _your_ choice.”

Norton stumbles when the ground starts to shake more violently, and when he looks back up, the man is gone.

“Wait!” he calls out desperately, but then Dirk makes a strangled sound of surprise, and when Norton looks at Dirk, he’s gone, too.

“Dirk?” Norton calls out, looking around in alarm, and then everything else in the room starts blinking out of existence as well, one by one, until there’s nothing but darkness around him and Norton looks down at the now pitch-black floors under his feet.

He has a split second to wonder what the actual fuck is happening before he falls into the blackness like he’s being sucked into a vacuum, and Norton flails as he squeezes his eyes shut, bracing for impact.

\---

Norton wakes up slowly, his head feeling thick and heavy.

For a moment, he can’t see anything, and almost panics until he realizes that his eyes are just still closed. It’s still alarming, however, because he can’t seem to peel them open, at least not without a lot of effort, and he groans as he finally manages to open his eyes.

“Norton?” he hears Dirk say before he sees him.

Or at least, he sees a blurred, smudgy form hovering above him that vaguely resembles Dirk, and Norton frowns, blinking his eyes several times more to try and clear his vision. But the smudge remains a smudge, and Norton groans again.

“Can’t see,” he murmurs, and the Dirk-smudge disappears as Norton feels an arm slipping under his shoulders and pulling him up into a sitting position, and when the arm pulls away, Norton falls back down onto the bed, his whole body numb and refusing to move as he wants it to.

Dirk makes an alarmed sound and the arm comes back, except now it pulls Norton close to what he assumes is Dirk’s chest to support him.

“Can’t move,” Norton mumbles as apologetically as he can manage, and Dirk makes that sound again. “Something’s wrong,” Norton continues to say weakly, except, that’s one too many syllables and it comes out a garbled mess instead.

“Oz, something’s wrong with him,” he hears Dirk say, panicked and worried, and Norton vaguely feels the bed shifting under them until there’s another body leaning close against his other side, and he’s being passed over to what could only be Priest’s arms.

To Norton’s surprise, his vision focuses just a little bit more - though the edges are still blurred and it’s like looking through a very narrow tunnel - as he leans against Priest’s chest, and he can just about move one arm enough to grasp at Priest’s shoulder.

“It’s the Mark,” Norton says breathlessly, though he’s not quite sure how he knows this.

“I’m takin’ him to Laney,” he hears Priest tell Dirk.

“Like _this_?” he hears Dirk ask incredulously. “Are you _insane_? They’re going to think you _battered_ him!”

“The Mark’s _killing_ him, Svlad,” Priest shoots back harshly, and Norton tightens his fingers on Priest’s shoulder warningly.

“Don’t talk to him like that,” he mutters tiredly, frowning into Priest’s t-shirt.

Priest scoffs, but it’s Dirk that says, “The Mark _needs_ him, it won’t kill him. _You_ go down and bring Laney here, I’ll stay with Norton.”

Priest clicks his tongue annoyedly, but Norton finds himself being carefully laid down on the bed, and he bites back a whimper when his vision goes to hell again as Priest lets go of him.

“ _Do not_ leave this room,” he hears Priest warn as he walks away, boots thumping loudly towards the door of the hotel room.

“I- I’m going to put some clothes on,” he hears Dirk tell him after Priest is gone, followed by the sounds of him moving around, and Norton just hums tiredly in acknowledgment.

Dirk’s by his side minutes later, pulling him back up, and he’s pressing the mouth of a bottle against Norton’s lips.

“Drink,” Dirk tells him softly, and Norton opens his mouth and tries, except most of it ends up spilling out of the corners of his lips because he can’t quite seem to make his tongue or his throat work properly.

Still, he swallows enough to satisfy Dirk, and Norton hears the door opening again as Dirk’s wiping him dry with the covers of the bed.

“Jesus, Priest, the _fuck_ did you do to the boy?” he hears a female, unfamiliar voice say with disapproval, and Norton squints up to the side of the bed to see a blurred figure with wild dark hair and olive-toned skin standing nearby.

“ _Your_ spell did this to him,” he hears Priest say annoyedly.

“I was talking about the _bruises_ ,” the stranger says, and she moves until she’s sitting on the bed and facing Norton, her unclear face leaning close to his. “The spell didn’t do none of that.”

“They’re not as bad as they look,” Dirk says defensively, his arms wrapping around Norton’s shoulders in a protective embrace.

The woman snorts derisively, and Norton’s already terrible vision is obstructed by what he thinks is her hand as she places the heel of it gently against his forehead.

“This might hurt a bit, chiquito,” the woman says softly, and Norton braces himself as a sense of déjà vu washes over him.

It’s just like that time with Evans; Norton’s wrist flares with burning pain where the Mark is, and he tenses up as it spreads quickly up his arm, but the voices that follow are less thunderous, now that he knows what to expect. Still, it’s _painful_ and confusing, and Norton groans, his body spasming in Dirk’s hold. His eyes squeeze shut, and the images come, too, and he sees them clearer this time.

An open field, a burning river, jagged cave walls, an arched stone door with wrought-iron bars and a strange, hand-shaped lock in its centre, faces of people he knows and doesn’t know; they rush by like a gust of cold wind, and Norton holds his breath as he waits woefully for them to pass.

When they finally do, they leave behind a muted ringing in his ears, and Norton just about hears Dirk’s muffled voice speaking loudly over his head. Norton opens his eyes slowly, heaving a sigh of relief when the world no longer looks like he’s looking at it through a dirty glass window, and takes a moment to calm himself down, to acclimatize himself with the ominous presence that’s once more nestled inside his chest. He finds himself bent in half in Dirk’s arms, his head downturned where it’s resting against Dirk’s chest, and he frowns slightly as he takes in the angry black bruises on one of his thighs standing out starkly against his skin, and sees hand-shaped prints on his hips when he tilts his head.

“Good grief, _someone_ was cross last night,” he remarks wryly, gasping when Dirk seizes his shoulders and pulls Norton up until they’re facing each other.

“Norton!” Dirk says with visible relief, like Norton’s just come back from being away for a while, but before Norton can say anything about it, Dirk’s surging forward and pulling him close at the same time, and their lips crash together clumsily as he kisses Norton, their noses bumping in an awkward angle.

Norton feels much stronger now than earlier, and he kisses Dirk back fervently, moving his arms until he’s got them wrapped around Dirk’s waist, holding onto him firmly.

“Alright, alright, break it up, boys, we’ve got work to do,” he hears the woman say, and Norton rolls his eyes, mildly annoyed when Dirk pulls away with a sheepish grin.

“Who are you, then, petal?” Norton asks as he turns to look up at the woman.

With clear eyes, he can see that she’s devastatingly beautiful, with sharp features and dark eyes that seem to pierce right through the soul, complemented by the wild waves of her black, shoulder-length hair. But there’s also an air of _authority_ around her that has Norton on edge, like she’s more than capable of taking down men thrice her size despite her delicate features, and if Norton weren’t a flaming homosexual, he’d probably be flirting shamelessly with her. She reminds him of Priest, albeit more disarmingly charming and very much female.

“Solana Reyes, Holistic Therapist,” she introduces herself to him with a smirk. “People call me Laney.” Her eyes wander lower from Norton’s eyes, and she adds teasingly, “but _you_ can call me mami, chiquito.”

“Tame yourself, shrew,” Norton shoots back at her, but there’s no heat behind his words and he returns her smirk in kind. “Unless you’ve got a cock hiding under that skirt, you’re barking up the wrong tree.”

Laney laughs, looking over at Priest as she says, “Oh, I _like_ this one. You’re a lucky bastard, Priest.”

Priest just snorts in response, moving away towards the dresser on the other side of the room and rummaging through it.

“That spell,” Norton asks Laney. “Is it the same one Evans used before?”

Laney nods, answering, “He got it from me. It’s a long story, and you look like you need a week’s worth of food in you.” She points vaguely over her shoulder at the door, adding, “I can explain over breakfast. I’ll meet you boys downstairs.”

\---

Norton somehow manages to wheedle Priest into carrying him on his back about an hour later as they make their way down to the hotel’s coffeehouse to meet Laney because even though he feels much stronger now than when he’d woken up, his bottom still _hurts_ from the previous night’s activities, and it’s really the least Priest could do to make up to him for it.

The others there are giving the three of them varying degrees of confused and curious looks as they walk towards their tables, however, and Norton’s sure it’s not just because about half of them haven’t yet seen him with his newly-dyed hair, or seen him at all, in fact. There’s a serious-looking black woman there that Norton doesn’t recognize, along with Todd, Cerce, Evans, and Laney, and he’s acutely aware of their stares boring into his neck and the reddened skin of his wrists over Priest’s shoulders that aren’t covered by his jacket sleeves.

“What _happened_ to Norton?” Todd asks as he climbs off of Priest’s back with as much dignity as he can muster and sits down in one of the free chairs gingerly.

Norton’s mildly shocked - and pleased - that he’s able to tell Norton apart from Dirk, and he sniffs delicately, saying, “A gentleman doesn’t kiss and tell, Todd,” while Dirk and Priest sit down on either side of him.

Todd looks momentarily more confused before he realizes what Norton’s implying, and then he just looks equal parts disgusted and disturbed, blanching.

“TMI,” he says, glaring, and Norton smirks at him smugly.

“So, you’re Norton Folgate?” the black woman cuts in, stiff and professional.

Norton tilts his head at her, saying, “Ta, and indeed, _da_ , darling,” and then looks over at Cerce with a smile and, “Hello, Cerce.”

Cerce smiles back, wide and sweet. “Hi, Norton,” they reply. “Your hair’s like Dirk’s now. You’re even wearing his jacket. It’s like you’re really twins.”

Norton nods, smiling wryly at their observation, and Evans chooses that moment to say, “I’m guessing that Priest did all the work last night,” to which Norton responds with a glare.

“Don’t think too hard about it, love, your head might explode with the effort,” he say flatly, but Evans simply laughs.

“Can we _not_ talk about what they do in private, please?” the black woman cuts in, looking annoyed and uncomfortable, and even more so when Evans smiles at her flirtatiously, saying, “We can discuss _other_ private things instead, sugar.”

“Not going to respond to that,” the black woman says, looking away from him and over at Dirk instead. “Are you sure I can’t at least punch him?”

“Just ignore him, that’s what Norton does,” Dirk tells her helpfully. “It’s quite effective.”

A waitress comes by the table, then, asking for their orders, and Dirk rattles off a number of food and drinks for himself, Priest and Norton before any of them can say anything, and when the waitress leaves, Laney leans over the table, looking over at Norton.

“Alright, let’s get down to business,” she starts, eyes dark and serious. “You talked to the Mark, didn’t you?”

Norton raises a brow at that, glancing over at Dirk, who snaps his fingers and perks up, loudly saying, “So it _was_ the Mark!” He looks back at Norton, and explains, “The man, in our dream! I’ve been thinking about who he was, and it _makes sense_ , doesn’t it? He told us that he’s been trying to _have a proper talk_ with you.”

“The spell that I cast,” Laney cuts in, nodding. “And Evans used on you. It amplifies psychic connections.”

“But I’m _not_ psychic,” Norton says, frowning.

“Which is why you’ve been feeling all fucked to next week,” Laney says, smirking and adding, “No pun intended.”

Norton rolls his eyes, while Todd makes a disgruntled sound, but Laney continues, “About a month ago, I got a vision. I’m a witch, right? I get visions of the future, usually, but Universe shows me other things sometimes, for shits and giggles. I make impossible things possible, and with the right amount of hocus pocus, I make magic, too.

“So, last month, I saw this vision. _You_ were in it. I saw the Mark, Evans, some of that shit that went down in New York. And Universe tells me I gotta open a bridge for you, get you to talk to the Mark.” She nods in Evans’s direction before saying, “Then this bozo calls me up two weeks ago and asks me for the spell, except _he_ thought it was supposed to help suppress the Mark.”

”Universe is a vague motherfucker, right?” Evans remarks, shaking his head.

Norton frowns as he absorbs the new information; he’s not quite sure he really understands it all, although it does explain how the voice he’d been hearing in New York had been slowly leading him to the war-machine, especially with what the Mark had told them about the Universe’s intentions. It doesn’t, however, explain Friedkin telling him to get rid of the Mark, and Norton feels his head starting to ache trying to piece that into the puzzle.

Meanwhile, Laney continues, “Anyway, spell worked, just like it was supposed to. But since you ain’t no psychic, it’s draining you like a hole in a bucket. Gotta keep the spell active so that it can work both ways; Mark gets to talk to you, and you get to leech off the Mark’s energies so you don’t drop dead.”

“Except for the part where the Mark is constantly draining my life, anyway,” Norton says tiredly, still frowning. “I still lose in the end.”

Laney smiles sympathetically. “That’s part of the package, chiquito, sorry,” she says.

Norton sighs, leaning back in his chair. “The Mark told Dirk and I that we’re to find a _door_ ,” he says, looking over at everyone. “Apparently, there’s a terrible monster pounding away behind it and only the Mark’s war-machine can kill it. I think that that’s the Door to the Universe that Ingres has been planning to open.”

“Amanda had a vision of a door,” the black woman says thoughtfully. “She said we’re supposed to find it, too. That’s why she got us here, she thinks it’s somewhere nearby.”

“If there’s a monster behind this Door, and the Door is somewhere here, that means it’s going to come out,” Cerce says suddenly, glancing at everyone with a sad look on their face. “I’ve been seeing ghosts around. Not a lot, but that’s usually one of the earliest warning signs.”

Norton frowns at that, not liking this confirmation one bit. If a disaster’s coming, and the Door’s the cause for it, that means that whatever they do, Norton’s still going to have to activate the war-machine and stop it, regardless of the so-called choices the Mark had said are Norton’s own to make. Norton’s sure that whatever happens, he’ll be forced to choose what the Universe wants him to, just like with everything that had happened in New York.

“Where _is_ Amanda, actually?” Dirk asks curiously. “And the others? I haven’t seen them since we checked in yesterday.”

Todd groans, rolling his eyes. “She took one look at Lulu and Frae this morning and declared them Rowdy material,” he says wryly. “From what I could understand, she’s taken them all out to the valley for some hiking trip or something. Lucas went with them because he said he was ‘concerned for their safety’.”

“And for good reason,” Evans says sagely, and the black woman shoots him a dirty look.

“Amanda is responsible and careful and she’s perfectly capable of leading a group of grown ass people out on a hike,” she says reasonably. “I’m sure they’re all _absolutely_ fine.”

Someone’s phone rings shrilly then, suddenly, and Todd jumps before realizing that it’s his. He frowns when he pulls it out, visibly worried, and Norton catches a glimpse of his phone’s screen to see Amanda’s name on it.

“Put it on speaker,” Norton advises as Todd presses answer, and he nods, placing his phone on the table as he turns on the speaker function.

“ _Oh my god, Todd, we are absolutely not fucking fine right now_!” Amanda’s voice says loudly, and Evans gives the black woman a smug look which she glares in response to. “ _We’re fucking_ fantastic _, you boring losers_!” Amanda continues, and Evans’s expression drops quickly. “ _This place is lit, Todd, you should’ve come, it’s amazing out here_!”

“ _You_ told me to wait here for Dirk to wake up,” Todd tells her, rolling his eyes.

“ _I did_?” Amanda says, sounding confused for a moment. There’s a faint, cheerful scream in the background, and Amanda laughs before saying, “ _Since when do you listen to me, anyway? Whatever, dude, don’t blame me for your own bad decisions_.”

Todd sighs, exasperated and long-suffering, and then Amanda laughs again before another voice filters through the speaker.

“ _’Manda, look, look what I can do_!” the voice shrieks, and it sounds suspiciously like Lulu, and then there’s a loud splash, and Amanda’s laughing again.

“ _Okay, I need to go, I just called to tell you that we’re probably gonna stay the night out here_ ,” Amanda says, still chuckling. “ _Boys say there’s some deadass ultra-psychic vibes out here and we’re gonna check it out until we can find the source of it_.”

Todd frowns, at the same time the black woman shakes her head disapprovingly. “In the _mountains_ , Amanda?” Todd says, dubious. “That’s- isn’t that dangerous? Can’t you just come back and look for it tomorrow? I mean, where are you guys even gonna sleep, in the _van_?”

“ _Uh,_ yeah _, Todd, obviously_?” Amanda replies, and even Norton can tell from the tone of her voice that she’s likely rolling her eyes. “ _It’s fine, there’s like, eight of us, Todd, and Lulu can fucking_ fight _. I think I might be developing a hard on for her_.”

“Amanda,” Todd groans, rubbing a hand over his face, but Amanda just snorts through the phone.

“ _Just because you’re not secure enough in your masculinity to blatantly declare your attraction to another man doesn’t mean I’ve got to practise restraint, Todd_ ,” she says, sounding mildly annoyed before cheerfully adding, “ _Going now, bye!_ ” and hanging up.

“I would ask you for her hand in marriage if I wasn’t worried she’d wear my balls on a chain around her neck,” Evans tells Todd.

Todd makes a disgusted sound and glares at Evans, warning. “Don’t even _think_ about my sister,” he says flatly.

“Oh, don’t worry, Todd, he’s more into twins at the moment,” Dirk tells him dismissively, and Norton glares at Evans, too.

“We don’t _share_ ,” he tells him, at the same time Priest leans over the table and smiles at Evans sharply.

“You been naughty, Evans?” he asks casually, speaking for the first time since they’d come downstairs, and Evans pales, leaning back in his seat.

“I’ve been thinking of taking up a vow of celibacy, actually,” he says weakly.

“Alright, enough with the pissing contests,” Laney says, huffing. “Y’all are thirstier than a bunch of teenagers, _Lord_. It’s like being back in high school.”

“Says the woman that got to enjoy the view this morning,” Norton says, sniffing delicately. “But you’re quite right, poppet. What do we about this Door now?”

“I guess we’ll have to find it,” Dirk says uneasily, glancing at Norton with a worried look on his face. “The Mark said we could stop Ingres before she opens it. Perhaps if we find it first, we’ll find a way to stop her before she can even try.”

“But that’s not what your Universe wants, is it?” Norton says rhetorically, remembering what the Mark had told them in their dream. “It wants whatever’s behind it dead.”

“But you’ll die, too, if you activate the war-machine,” Dirk says, shaking his head and pursing his lips unhappily. “A choice,” he adds, quieter, and his eyes widen for a moment before he looks down at the table, murmuring, “You have to make a choice.”

He looks like he knows something, and Norton’s about to ask him about it when the waitress finally comes back with their food, and he makes a mental note to bring it up later as Priest forces them to eat first.

\---

“There’s a Holistic Storyteller in town,” Laney is telling them later, as they all file out of the coffeehouse.

“Runs a used bookshop a couple of blocks away,” she explains as she leads them down the street. “He’s a nice guy, but he’s read too much, if you ask me.”

“What’s a Holistic _Storyteller_?” the black woman, whom Norton has learnt is the Farah of Dirk’s wild adventures, asks sceptically.

“He collects books,” Laney answers. “Old books. He told me that they usually turn up out of nowhere, or he just goes places for no reason and finds them. And he reads them and get this; he remembers every single fucking thing he reads, like as if he’s the one that wrote them himself. The only people that go to that bookshop are people that need to hear what he’s read.”

“Was he a Project?” Priest asks Laney, raising a brow at her. “Never heard of that power before.”

“He said he was Project Python,” Laney tells him, shrugging.

Priest frowns, but nods. “Wasn’t assigned to me,” he says. “Scott got him himself. Didn’t like talkin’ about it, either.”

“Iggy doesn’t talk about anything before Blackwing,” Laney says, shrugging again. “Doesn’t like talking about Blackwing at all.”

“Who does?” Dirk asks with a shudder, and Norton reaches out to grab a hold of his hand. Dirk smiles at him gratefully for it.

“Python was marked successful,” Priest says thoughtfully. “He was released because of an error, but Scott didn’t order any retrievals.”

Laney stops walking, then, and gestures at the shop that they’ve reached, a nondescript, beige-painted facade with glass doors and a ‘CLOSED’ sign hanging on one of them.

“Here it is,” she says simply. “You can ask him yourselves.”

“You think he’ll know anything about the Door?” Todd asks, glancing at her with uncertainty before looking at the entrance to the shop. “He’s not even open yet.”

“Only one way to find out,” Laney says before ignoring the sign completely and pushing the - surprisingly unlocked - doors and disappearing inside.

They all look at each other, each of them all kinds of wary, but file in after her, one by one.

Inside is empty, which is to be expected, considering the sign on the door, and it’s bigger than Norton had been expecting. It’s dimly-lit, too, and there are rows and rows of shelves lining every wall, from floor to ceiling, overflowing with books. They all look _old_ and worn, and Norton doesn’t recognize any of the titles on their wrinkled spines, and some of them look like they’d been hand-printed by amateurs.

 _Not an ordinary bookshop, at all_.

At the far end of the shop, somewhere near the back, is a large wooden counter, and Laney’s striding towards it confidently, Evans and Cerce following close behind her, followed by Dirk, Priest, Farah and Todd. Norton’s distracted momentarily by the voice in his head - the bloody Mark, he’s _sure_ of it now - whispering at him to, “Look up…”

Norton frowns, not liking being told what to do, but he does, anyway, and he’s shocked to find that there’s a dark-haired man standing with his back to him, several feet above them. He seems to be standing in the air, but a closer look makes Norton realize that the bookshelves aren’t actually as tall as he’d thought. There’s a ladder leaning against one of them from the floor, and it reaches up to a narrow path between the top of the bookshelves that likely lines the walls of the shop. It’s obscured by the illusion of the bookshelves being floor-to-ceiling, as there are more shelves along the walls on the other side of the walkway. If it weren’t for the ladder, Norton wouldn’t have even noticed the opening, nor the walkway.

A metal bell rings loudly, then, resounding throughout the whole shop, and the man jumps, tossing a book into the air with a surprised yelp. The book sails backwards over his head and towards the floor, in Norton’s direction, and he catches it instinctively in his hands.

“Iggy!” Laney calls out, followed by several more rings, and Norton looks over at them to see her tapping incessantly at a silver bell sitting on the counter. “Hey, Iggy, where are you? I brought some friends here who need your holistic services.”

Norton watches the man turn around with a quiet groan, his blue eyes looking down from behind thin, plastic-rimmed spectacles over at Norton, then at the book Norton’s now holding in his hands.

“Sorry about that,” the man says sheepishly at him.

Norton shrugs, asking, “Are you Iggy?”

The man pushes the glasses over the bridge of his nose and nods before he starts walking along the shelves until he’s in front of the ladder, and starts climbing down it. Meanwhile, Laney’s still tapping on the bell loudly.

“Stop with the ringing, Laney, I’m right here,” the man, Iggy, says loudly as he reaches the ground, but Laney does no such thing.

She’s grinning widely when Norton looks over at her, and it’s obvious she knows exactly how annoying she’s behaving. Iggy’s rolling his eyes when he turns around from the ladder and moves over to Norton, taking the book from him with a quiet thanks.

“Egres Lith,” he says with a smile, reaching a hand out and Norton pauses as he’s about to take it, frowning.

“Lith?” he echoes, and Iggy’s hand drops as the smile on his face wavers. “That’s an uncommon name,” Norton says, glancing over at the others, seeing Dirk and Priest moving over to them. “You don’t have a sister, by any chance, do you?”

Iggy’s pales visibly at that, and he looks at Norton with apprehension. “I don’t,” he starts, before shaking his head and saying, “How do you know that?”

Norton purses his lips and take a step back from the man, hating how relieved he feels when Dirk and Priest reach them and stand on either side of him, and Iggy looks at the three of them warily, pausing between Norton and Dirk.

“Ingres Lith is your sister?” Dirk asks him, and Iggy nods, jerky and stiff.

“But she’s dead,” he says, swallowing visibly, his expression pained. “She’s been dead for decades. Who are you people?” He turns to look over at Laney. “Why did you bring them here, Laney?”

“The Universe brought us here,” Dirk interjects, and Iggy looks back at him, looking surprised before something like resignation settles on his face. “I’m Dirk Gently, and I’m a Holistic Detective,” Dirk tells him. “I’ve been told to find ‘a Door’, and Laney thinks that you might be able to help us with that.”

“Why do you think Ingres is dead?” Norton asks Iggy. “Is it something to do with Blackwing?”

Iggy winces at the mention of Blackwing, and he clutches at the book in his hands tightly. “No, it’s- it’s complicated,” he says, haltingly.

“Scott found you,” Priest says, and Iggy looks over at him, frowning unhappily. “But he didn’t find your sister, did he?”

Iggy shakes his head, and then sighs and inhales deeply. “Scott Riggins found me in a freak circus when I was eleven,” he says slowly, sad and subdued. “My sister- Ingres, she could shapeshift. And I can- I stay young longer than most people. We grew up in that circus and it was awful, but Ingres, she was always getting the worst of it because she was always protecting me.

“When Scott found me, she’d shapeshifted into a snake, and she- she wouldn’t change back, and the ringmaster was so furious, he threw her at the lions and they- they tore her apart right in front of me.” Iggy stops talking, his eyes tearing up behind his glasses at the memory, and his voice is thick and heavy when he continues, “Scott got me out, but I knew Ingres- there was nothing he could’ve done for her, so I never- I didn’t tell him about her. I never told anyone about her.”

He swallows, and looks at Norton. “How do you know Ingres?” he asks, and there’s a desperation in his voice, a mixture of hope and dread in it that Norton almost sympathizes with.

“She’s not dead,” Priest tells him before Norton can say anything, and Iggy looks at him with disbelief.

“No way,” he breathes, staggering backwards until his back hits the ladder he’d come down form, and he looks like he’s about to start crying. “That’s- I _saw_ her die.”

“Iggy,” Dirk says, and Iggy looks at him, his face contorted with helpless confusion. “We- your sister. We don’t know if it’s really her or not, but there _is_ someone going around calling herself Ingres Lith.”

Iggy makes a strangled sound of grief, and Dirk winces guiltily, but continues, “And she’s planning to do something very bad. Something that might get a lot of innocent people killed.”

Iggy shakes his head at him, his eyes wet and wide. “Ingres isn’t like that, she’s,” he chokes out, disbelieving. “She’s one of the kindest people in the world, she wouldn’t- why are you telling me this?”

“Guys, give him some space,” Laney says, and Norton hadn’t realized that she’d been walking towards them until she’s right next to Iggy, a hand reaching for his shoulder comfortingly.

Iggy looks over at her helplessly. “Sorry, Iggy,” Laney tells him. “I didn’t know she was your sister.”

Iggy shakes his head. “I- what’s going on, Laney?” he asks her desperately.

“The vision I told you about,” Laney tells him. “About the Mark?”

Iggy looks confused for moment before a look of realization dawns on his face, and he nods, slowly. “The Mark of Cain,” he says quietly. “It’s here?”

Laney gestures at Norton, and says, “In the flesh.”

Iggy looks over at Norton, eyes wide. “Well, crap,” he says, pushing his glasses up his nose again. “But- what does it have to do with Ingres?”

“Your sister formed an organization that’s hellbent on using the Mark to open a Door,” Norton tells him, as kindly as he can manage. Iggy’s ignorance of his sister’s living status seems to be genuine, which means he’s not likely dangerous. And if Laney’s right, and he knows about the Door they’re supposed to find, he doesn’t want to give the man any reasons to become their enemy. “If it makes you feel any better, she doesn’t know what the Mark is, or what’s it _really_ capable of, and I think that her intentions are good, however misguided.”

Iggy looks relieved at that. “You- you’ve met her?” he asks Norton hesitantly.

Norton nods. “Black hair, green eyes, about this height?” he says wryly, gesturing with his hand.

Iggy smiles, soft and fond. “That’s her,” he says, and there’s a tone of disbelief in his voice. “I can’t- this is a lot to take in,” he adds, chuckling nervously.

Norton shakes his head, shooting him a pitying look. “I’m afraid we might not have much time for you to process it,” he tells him. “We’ve got to find this Door before Ingres does, and it’s only a matter of days before she finds us here.”

“Ingres is coming here?” he asks, eyes widening. “If- if she’s here, I could _talk_ to her! I could stop her from whatever it is that she’s planning on doing!”

“You might not be able to,” Norton says, frowning. “Iggy, the last time you saw her, you were _eleven_. You’ve said it yourself, petal, it’s been _decades_. She might not be the same person you remember.”

Iggy purses his lips, looking crestfallen, and Laney squeezes his shoulder comfortingly.

“How are you planning on stopping her?” he asks quietly, his eyes going blank as he looks at them.

“If we can find the Door before her, we might not have to do anything,” Norton explains. “I’ve got the Mark, and she can’t open the Door without it, anyway. We just need the Door.”

Iggy breathes out a sigh of relief, and with a small, curt nod, he says, “Tell me everything you guys know about this Door of yours.”

\---

They’re all sitting in a small, cramped office in the back of the shop later, the floors littered with crooked piles of books of all shapes and sizes.

Iggy’s digging around behind a small desk pushed into a corner of the room, throwing files he pulls out from under it over his shoulder until he finds what he’s looking for. It’s a huge binder, and he drops it heavily on top of the desk and starts flipping through the papers inside it.

“Sometimes when I read, I get this feeling to write down important points,” he explains as he scans the pages he flips through. They look like scrap paper, mostly, and they’re full of seemingly random words jotted down in an elegant, slanted script. “I can’t remember _everything_ right off the bat, but phrases and words are good triggers to the right stories.”

Norton’s sitting on a somewhat stable pile of books next to the desk, Dirk standing behind him. Cerce, Farah and Evans are looking curiously at a pile near the door of the office, while Todd, Priest and Laney are leaning side by side against the wall the desk is pushed against.

“Do you often get people asking you things?” Dirk asks curiously.

“Not really,” Iggy answers distractedly. “I mean, this _is_ a bookshop, so people come and buy the books I find, for whatever reason. But once in a while, someone comes in and asks me for help, and as it turns out, I’ve read their dead grandfather's logbook from when he was in the army, or a nurse’s journal from Poland during the 30’s. They’re all unimportant, on the grand scale of things, but to these people, the stories mean the world to them.”

Dirk nods understandingly, and they all look over at Evans when he makes a loud sound of surprise.

“This book was written by an A. Lincoln,” Evans says, picking up a battered, leather diary with an odd symbol on it. “And it’s got mentions of treaties and a constitution,” he says disbelievingly. “Do you think-?”

“Put it back, Evans,” Norton tells him with a roll of his eyes. “We’ve still got the apocalypse to avert, don’t go getting distracted by urban legends.”

Evans pouts sulkily, but he puts the book back down, grumbling under his breath.

“I’ve found it,” Iggy says then, unclasping the binder’s ring and pulling out a page.

Everyone moves closer to the desk, then, and Norton can feel the whole room holding its breath as Iggy squints down at the page, his lips moving soundlessly as he reads whatever’s on it, his eyes widening when he finishes. When he looks over at Norton, his eyes are clouded over.

“I pulled it out of the void,” he says, and his voice is level and devoid of emotion, like he’s reciting a line he’d memorized. “It was awful, and I knew I was cursed the second I touched it. But I know it’s going to work. It’s going to lock it away and the world will be safe again. No one else has to die, and if that’s not worth dying for, I don’t know what is.”

Norton’s chest clenches painfully at his words, and he grasps at it instinctively, wincing. It evolves quickly into a throbbing ache, and Dirk makes a sound of concern, dropping to his knees on the floor next to Norton, but Norton waves him away because Iggy’s not done yet.

“We made sure to put the Door somewhere no one would go,” he continues. “We set traps, just in case some unfortunate soul might stumble onto it. We don’t know how long it’s going to last, but it’s better than nothing. Maybe one day, the earth will bury it forever. I just wish I could destroy the key and eliminate any chance of that monster being freed, but the Universe has its own plans. This is my last entry. The next time anyone hears from me, it will be as just another tool of the Universe.”

Norton gasps when the throbbing in his chest turns into a sharp, paralyzing stab of pain, and he falls forward until he’s bent in half over his lap, his face buried in his knees. His vision blacks out for a split second, and he pants heavily for breath as the Mark _screams_ at him, furious and unintelligible in its rage, and he jerks away when he feels hands on his shoulders.

“I’m fine,” he hisses irritably, glaring down at the floor as he tries to drown out the Mark’s voice. “It’s- _god_ , it’s just so _loud_ ,” he says, huffing.

“Is it the Mark?” he vaguely hears Iggy asking, and he sounds more like himself again, uncertain and worried.

“There’s a map,” Norton says, although he’s not sure what makes him say it. He shuts his eyes, and tries to even out his breathing, adding, “You have it, don’t you?”

The Mark calms down as abruptly as it had kicked up the fuss, and Norton sighs irritably as the pain in his chest fades and he’s able to straighten back up. Dirk’s still on the floor by his side, his hands on Norton’s shoulders, and Norton gives him a small, weak smile of reassurance.

“I’m fine, love,” he tells Dirk softly, and Dirk nods, but the look on his face is dubious at best.

Meanwhile, Iggy’s holding out an old, worn piece of yellow paper to him, and it looks like it’s been folded and unfolded so many times that the creases have nearly worn through it. It looks like it’s been torn out from a book, and on it is a rough map of _somewhere_ drawn in black ink.

“This was from the diary I read that from,” Iggy explains as Norton squints at the map, trying to make sense of it. “It looks like the canyon, but it could really be anywhere with a mountain and a river.”

Norton sighs, because he’s right. It’s all basically a bunch of squiggles and circles, and there are labels for what he assumes are names, but they’re in a language Norton doesn’t understand.

“Amanda said the Rowdies are attracted to a psychic energy where they are right now,” Todd says suddenly, and they all look over at him. “That map might be anywhere in the US with a mountain and a river, but the Universe _did_ bring Amanda and the rest of us _h_ _ere_. So, it’s gotta be it, right?”

“You’re absolutely right, Todd,” Dirk says, grinning widely at him. “Great assisting, as usual.”

Todd rolls his eyes, but he does look somewhat pleased. “I thought you promoted me to detective,” he says wryly.

“Pfft, semantics,” Dirk says with a dismissive huff.

“So, we go to the mountains, then?” Farah says. “It’s already late, it might be nightfall by the time we reach.”

“Amanda and the others are camping out there,” Cerce pipes up, sounding excited. “We can camp with them! It’ll be like a sleepover!”

Farah groans, shaking her head and muttering darkly under her breath, “A sleepover in a freezing pit of doom, sounds _great_.”

Norton agrees with her wholeheartedly, but Dirk stands up and declares, “A sleepover it is, then!” and that settles that.

\---

Iggy doesn’t come with them.

He’s never been in a fight his whole life, and he’d claimed that violence makes him sick, which is understandable, considering what he’d said about his childhood with a freak circus. Norton can’t imagine the true depth of abuse he might’ve suffered as a child; after all, look at how Ingres has turned out. Laney had also stayed behind with him, offering to keep him safe if Ingres or any of the other Circle people comes through the town.

So it’s just Norton, Dirk, Priest, Todd, Farah, Cerce and Evans as they get to a rental shop and get an RV large enough to comfortably fit all of them if they need to sleep in there for the night later. Norton’s sitting in the front with Priest, while Dirk and the others settle in the back. They’d gotten directions from the cashier at the rental shop to the area that resembles the map the most, and Norton had also grabbed an actual map inside a brochure from the shop.

He’s looking at it as Priest drives them out of the town, thinking.

He’s not sure how he feels about finding the Door, to be honest. It’s inevitable that they will, since that’s what the Universe evidently wants, but it also means that Norton’s closer to having to make that choice the Mark had mentioned.

He’s not sure what he’s going to do when they find the Door. He definitely doesn’t want to activate the machine, but if they stop Ingres, and someone else finds the Door...

 _He hates being told what to do_.

“Priest,” Norton says, shaking his head to clear his morbid thoughts. Something else has been bothering him, too, and he’s just remembered it.

Priest hums in acknowledgment, eyes on the road.

“Earlier, in the room,” Norton continues, looking over at Priest. “Laney said I was like that because the Mark’s been draining me. When you held me, it felt like- like it was draining me _less_. What _was_ that?”

Priest smiles wryly, glancing over at Norton before shrugging. “Part of my job,” he says vaguely, and Norton frowns.

“You told me you were a Holistic _Hunter_ ,” Norton says, accusatory.

Priest giggles. “I am,” he says, pausing before he adds, “I also told you that the Universe gives me choices. When I was with Blackwing, I chose to be a hunter.”

Norton gapes at him for a moment before shaking his head, feeling betrayed and annoyed. “You prick,” he says, huffing. “You’ve been lying to us?”

Priest snorts derisively. “Didn’t lie,” he says. “You just didn’t ask the right questions.”

“That’s just as good as lying,” Norton snaps back, but he calms down slightly, rationally understanding that Priest is right. After all, Norton’s kept his own secrets from them, too, and he shouldn’t be expecting anything less from Priest.

“You can ask now,” Priest points out, glancing at him.

Norton sighs, pouting and glaring at the windshield for a moment before he does. “What _are_ your holistic abilities, exactly?” he asks.

“I can regenerate,” Priest answers easily. “Not immortal, as far as I know. But I don’t die as easily as other people.”

Norton nods, remembering what he’d told him back at Hotel Nirvana. Priest continues, “I get hunches like Svlad, but not as often, and not even close to being as accurate. Usually, when the Universe gives enough of a shit to talk to me, it’s to get me to make a choice.”

“Like you did with your parents?” Norton asks quietly, looking over at Priest again.

Priest nods. “Exactly like that,” he says. “I told you, I don’t _feel_ anythin’. Never have, as far as I can remember. Only time I feel anythin’ is when I do what the Universe tells me. Makes it easier to call the hard shots no one else can.”

“But you love Dirk,” Norton says, even quieter.

Priest smiles self-deprecatingly. “Svlad’s the exception,” he says simply. Glancing at Norton again, he adds, “You too, turns out.”

Norton feels his cheeks heating up at that, remembering the night before, and the kisses they’ve shared, and the threats Priest has been throwing out against Jeremiah and Eli and Evans. Norton’s not naïve enough to believe he means as much to Priest as Dirk does, but it still feels _good_ that he matters enough to him. To them both.

“That still doesn’t explain this morning,” he says quickly, changing the subject.

“I was gettin’ to that,” Priest says. “Part of the reason I was so good at gettin’ the Projects to Blackwing is because I can neutralize their powers, to a certain extent. I dampen psychic energies.”

Norton’s mouth drops open in realization. “You’re _kidding_ ,” he says, gaping at Priest.

Priest shakes his head, giggling. “Not even a little,” he says dryly. “That’s why the Rowdies can’t stand feedin’ off me. Can hardly taste anythin’, with my powers.”

“But that doesn’t make any sense,” Norton protests, scowling. “Dirk’s powers work just fine around you.”

“And like I told you, boy’s _powerful_ ,” Priest shoots back. “He’s like a fuckin’ beacon of psychic of energy. When he’s not around me, it gets fuckin’ everywhere. With me, it gets funneled. He’s more focused, less all over the place. Universe put us together for a reason.”

“Does Dirk know about this?” Norton asks, turning in his seat to look through the small window on the door separating the front of the RV from the back.

He can see them all talking excitedly about something - except for Farah, who looks like she’s trying very hard to not shoot Evans in the face - though he can’t hear what, and then looks back at Priest.

“He thinks it’s because he loves me,” Priest says, smiling wryly again. “He knows the Universe gives me choices, and he doesn’t like the choices I have to make sometimes. When he tried to stop me back in Blackwing, Universe told me to choose; let him stop me and make things worse, or hurt him by leavin’ but save him the grief of watchin’ me do my job.”

“You chose to leave,” Norton says softly, understanding. “So basically, you’re the Universe’s walking, talking law enforcer,” he concludes.

“Basically,” Priest agrees. “I do what needs to be done, whether anyone likes it or not.”

“If we can’t stop Ingres from opening the Door, are you going to kill her?” Norton asks.

“If that’s what the Universe wants me to do,” Priest affirms.

“What if the Universe _wants_ that Door to open?” Norton asks, more hesitantly, looking at Priest.

“Then we’ll open it,” Priest says, glancing back at Norton with a frown. “Is there somethin’ else you ain’t tellin’ me?” he asks.

Norton looks away from him quickly, looking back down at the map. “I’ve got to make a choice, too,” he says, clutching at the map tightly. “I think- I don’t want to lie to you, Priest,” he adds shakily.

“Then don’t,” Priest says simply. In a more aggressive tone, he says, “This isn’t up for debate, Norton, tell me what you know.”

Norton shakes his head, hating how weak his voice sounds even to his own ears when he asks, “If the Universe asked you to choose between Dirk and I, who would you choose, Priest?”

It’s an awful question, and it’s terribly unfair; to him, to Dirk, to Priest. But Norton knows that’s the choice Priest will have to make when Norton makes his own; to stop Ingres or to kill the monster. That’s what the Mark had told him, had told Dirk. And he doesn’t want to know what Priest will choose, because deep down inside, he _does_ know.

Priest will choose Dirk, because Norton would choose him, too. There’s really no question about it, and Norton feels like shit for even having given that ultimatum to Priest.

“Forget about it,” Norton says quickly before Priest can answer. “It’s not going to come to that, not if we find the Door first,” he says, shaking his head. His heart twinges painfully at the lie, and it’s nothing to do with the Mark at all.

Priest - thankfully - doesn’t push, and the both of them are silent for the rest of the ride. Norton’s staring out the window dolefully, trying hard not to think of anything at all, and eventually, he dozes off.

He doesn’t know how much time has passed when he’s being shaken awake gently, and he blinks blearily up at Dirk’s face in front of him.

“There’s a town right next to the nearest mountain trail,” he tells Norton with a wide, excited smile.

Norton makes a confused sound as he straightens in his seat, reaching down blindly to unbuckle his seatbelt, and Dirk steps away from the opened passenger door to give him space to climb out. They’re parked on the side of an empty road, and it’s night, so everything’s lit up by street lamps.

Dirk moves round the front of the RV to the sidewalk, where the others are filing into the building they’re in front of. It looks _odd_ , for some reason, and Norton frowns as he looks around. It’s such a small town that he can see where the road enters and exits the town from he’s standing, and there’re literally only three long stretches of shophouses positioned along a t-junction.

The building across from them has exactly three shops - a florist, a candy shop and a tailor - and there’s someone in an apron standing in front of the clear window of the candy shop, wiping at it. It wouldn’t be such an abnormal sight, except, when Norton squints at him, it appears that he’s wiping the glass with _sandpaper_ , which explains the ear-tingling scraping sound that’s been humming quietly throughout the deserted streets.

The man stops suddenly as Norton stares at him, and when he turns around, his eyes look blank and the smile he gives Norton is mechanical at best.

Norton smiles back and quickly makes his way to the building the others had gone into.

It’s a bed and breakfast, and everything inside at the lobby looks shiny and _new_. Norton feels immediately on edge as he looks around the area, walking quickly over to the counter where everyone is gathered. Farah’s collecting keys from the old lady behind the reception, and Norton notices she has the same blank look in her eyes as the man outside.

“Haven’t been in a B&B in years,” Evans says as Farah turns from the counter and hands him a key. “Who’s sharing with me?” he asks her with a flirtatious smile as he takes the key from her.

Farah ignores him completely, turning to pass another key to Priest. “Todd with Evans, Cerce with me,” she says, smiling over at Cerce.

Cerce smiles back widely. “Can you braid my hair?” they ask, and Farah looks over at their short hair for a moment before smiling indulgently.

“I can _try_ ,” she tells them, and Cerce squeals with delight.

“Would you like an apple, dear?” the old lady behind the counter asks Dirk, who’s standing nearby. She gestures at the bowl of fruit on the counter, and Dirk squints down at it before looking up at her in confusion.

“It’s plastic,” he says, looking at the old lady.

The old lady smiles. “It’s fresh,” she says, and Dirk’s brows rise as he nods slowly.

“Right,” he says, backing away from the counter. “I think I’ll leave them for you,” he tells her before turning around and making a face at Norton. “What was that?” he mouths at him.

Norton frowns, shaking his head as he walks closer to Priest and touches his elbow. “There’s something not right about this place,” he whispers to him.

Priest nods in agreement. “Keep your eyes peeled,” he mutters back.

Farah and Cerce are already climbing up the staircase to the side of the counter, and Todd and Evans are following close behind them. Priest gestures at Norton and Dirk to go, too, and Norton takes a hold of Dirk’s hand and goes after them.

Norton’s surprised to find that the others are all crowded on the second floor landing, and Farah puts a finger to her lips at Norton, tilting her head in the direction of the stairs. Norton nods in understanding, and Farah waves them all over to one of the doors in the hallway and goes inside. They all follow as quietly as they can manage, and Priest closes the door behind them and makes sure to lock it.

“What’s going on?” Todd asks in a whisper as they all huddle together in a circle. “This place is _weird_ , it’s not just me, right?”

“It’s like the Stepford Wives or something,” Evans agrees. “I didn’t feel anything when I looked at that old lady. She’s practically like Priest.”

“There was a man cleaning a window with sandpaper outside,” Norton tells them, shuddering. “He looked like a machine.”

“It’s gotta be Lutkas,” Priest says, and Norton looks at him apprehensively. “They’re all dolls. This place is a trap.”

“What do we do?” Cerce asks, looking around hesitantly.

Farah reaches inside her jacket and pulls out a gun, cocking it. “Fight our way out, if we have to,” she says simply. “Everyone head for the van, Priest and I will cover you guys.”

“But if Eli’s had the time to set this town up, the Circle probably already know we’re here,” Evans says. “They’ll follow us right to the Door if we leave now.”

“Then we talk to Eli,” Dirk says suddenly, and Norton gapes at him like he’s gone insane.

“Talk to that _psycho_?” he scoffs. “Are you _mental_ , love?”

Dirk squeezes his hand and shakes his head, a determined look on his face. “Trust me, Norton,” he says softly. “Maybe- maybe we were _supposed_ to be here. You got Lulu to leave them. Maybe we have to help Eli, too.”

Norton scowls, looking at Priest. “Are you hearing this?” he asks him.

Priest shrugs. “He has a point,” he says.

Norton gapes at him. “You’re _both_ mental,” he declares before turning to Todd. “Todd, tell them they’re being ridiculous!”

Todd’s eyes widen, and he looks like a deer caught in headlights, glancing around helplessly. “I- I mean, I don’t have any better ideas,” he says, and Norton groans with frustration.

He pulls his hand out of Dirk’s and walks away from them, to the other side of the room, needing space and air.

“You’ve all gone mad,” he says as he turns and glares at them. “Have you conveniently forgotten that this man is a _psychopath_? He’s killed people in cold blood, and he’s likely to kill all of us save for Dirk, and only because they _need_ him.”

“We could at least _try_ to reason with him,” Farah says, glancing at everyone. “If that doesn’t work, _then_ we fight.”

Norton scoffs, rolling his eyes. “Yes, and if one of us happens to die in the process, we’ll all have a toast in their memory,” he says irritably, crossing his arms over his chest. “We don’t even know if he’s even here right now,” he says.

Before anyone can say anything else, there’s a sound of glass breaking behind Norton - shortly before the Mark urgently tells him to, “Getoutoftheway!” - and Norton’s eyes widen when something wraps around his waist firmly from behind, and Dirk’s shouting his name as he’s pulled backwards, through the window he hadn’t realized he’d been standing in front of.

_Stupid, rookie mistake; he’s getting weak, letting his guard down._

There’s a sharp pain along the side of his neck as a jagged piece of glass scrapes against him from the windowsill, and then Norton’s sailing through the air outside, dangling several feet in the air. He looks down and sees Eli standing under him in the middle of the street, together with the Priest-thing and a mannequin. The mannequin has one of its arms held upwards, and Norton feels sick when he realizes that that’s what’s wrapped around him; the mannequin’s forearm is connected to its upper arm by a thick, elastic belt that it’s extended to grab Norton from the room, and is now holding him up in the air with.

“Gerald?” Eli says, squinting up at him. “I thought you were Icarus.”

“Surprise?” Norton says weakly.

The mannequin lowers him slowly until his feet touch the ground, but it doesn’t let go of him.

“You ran away,” Eli says to him, frowning. “Why did you do that, Gerald?”

“Norton!”

Norton turns his head to see Dirk running out the front of the B&B, followed closely by the others, and the mannequin jerks Norton away from them, closer to it and Eli.

“Icarus,” Eli says. “Will you come back with us?”

Dirk stops short near the van, looking at Norton anxiously, and Norton gives him a warning glare.

“Don’t you _dare_ ,” he hisses at him, and then there’s the loud bang of a gunshot and Norton stumbles as the mannequin jerks backwards, taking him with it, and he turns his head to see a bullet lodged in its chest.

“Hey, that’s one of my favourite dolls!” Eli protests, sounding flabbergasted.

“Let go of him,” Farah says sternly.

Norton turns back to see her standing a little ways in front of Dirk, gun now aimed at Eli.

“Or the next bullet is for you,” Farah finishes.

“Listen to the lady, Lutkas,” Priest says from where he’s standing next to Dirk, his own gun held loosely by his side.

“Stop,” Dirk says, looking around at them anxiously before settling his gaze on Eli. “Eli, listen, you don’t have to do this! Let Norton go and we can talk!”

Eli frowns at him, looking confused. “Who’s Norton?” he asks blankly.

Norton groans, and then the mannequin jerks him to the side, over to the Priest-thing, and it unfurls its arm from around him as the Priest-thing grabs Norton by his wrist. Norton struggles valiantly against its hold, but it’s just as unnaturally strong as it had been before, and Norton has no choice but to follow it as it starts dragging him away.

“Norton!” he hears Dirk cry out in alarm, and Norton stops struggling to look over at him, fear tugging at his chest when he sees the mannequin whip both its arms towards the others.

It hits Todd and Cerce - who were standing next to each other - across their waists, and they’re thrown back violently a few feet away, landing with pained shouts onto the sidewalk. Dirk cries out again, turning towards them, but something barrels into him from the side, a figure moving so fast that it’s blurred, and Dirk crashes onto the ground with a yelp. Priest cocks his gun, then, aiming at whatever that had attacked Dirk, and Norton realizes that it’s the shopkeeper from down the street, just as it pushes itself up and off Dirk. Priest shoots it in the head, and the shopkeeper is thrown off of Dirk, but Dirk’s still on the ground, dazed.

“Dirk!” Norton shouts at him worriedly, but the Priest-thing tugs at him again, and Norton makes a frustrated sound as he stumbles after it, trying to pull his wrist out of its grasp as he snarls, “Let go of me!”

The Priest-thing ignores him completely, dragging him behind it effortlessly like he’s not fighting against it tooth and nail, and Norton cranes his neck to look over his shoulder.

Farah’s on her knees by Dirk’s side, checking him over, and Priest is now engaged in a full-blown fight with the mannequin. He’s fending off it’s whipping arms with the gun and his arms, and it looks painful, but Priest just looks mildly annoyed as he makes his way closer and closer to the thing. He makes it close enough to it until he manages to grab its head between his hands, and he twists it violently and pulls it clean off its shoulders.

Eli makes a choked sound at that, while the mannequin flails before its body drops onto the ground motionlessly, but then the old lady from the B&B comes running out of the building, screeching as she rushes towards Priest from behind. She jumps onto his back and starts pounding against his head, and Priest stumbles, but manages to stay upright, grabbing up at the old lady with one hand and aiming his gun up at her blindly before shooting. He somehow manages to hit her in the face, and she freezes before going completely limp, dropping off of him and to the ground with a loud thump. Eli makes another sound at the sight, backing away as Priest starts striding in his direction, rolling his shoulders.

“Syn!” Eli shouts, panicked.

Norton grunts when he’s thrown to the side abruptly, landing on the asphalt onto his hands and knees as Priest-thing runs back towards Eli, stopping in front of him protectively. Priest doesn’t even falter, raising his gun and shooting at it as he gets closer. He gets in four shots in the Priest-thing’s chest before he runs out of bullets, and Priest-thing is still standing, face hard and impassive. Priest tosses his gun at its face, and it bounces off its forehead before landing on the ground, and then Priest charges at it. They wrestle against each other, and Norton stares in astonishment as Priest somehow manages to match the thing’s strength, the both of them locked against each other a few feet in front of Eli.

Eli glares at them, and then turns and starts towards Norton, whose eyes widen as he quickly scrambles to his feet and stumbles away from the man, but Eli is faster than he’d expected, and he manages to catch Norton’s arm before he can get very far.

“Let’s go, Gerald,” Eli hisses irritably, but he’s no hulking monster, and Norton manages to stand his ground, glaring at him.

“Don’t touch me,” he snarls at him, jerking back from the man, and Eli makes a frustrated sound as he shakes Norton.

“C’mon, sugar, didn’t your grandpa teach you it’s bad to steal other people’s things?” Evans’s voice reaches them suddenly, and they both turn their heads to see him approaching them.

He’s not armed, and Norton’s surprised when Eli tenses up next to him, his hold on Norton tightening subtly.

“No,” he hears the man murmur with shock, and the look on his face is nothing short of terrified.

“That’s right, Eli,” Evans says, still walking towards them, his voice calm and even. “Táta’s not happy, you’re being a very bad boy, panenka,” he continues, raising his hands in front of him, and his eyes are dark and stormy, though his tone remains serene.

“You’re not real,” Eli says, high-pitched and desperate, his whole body trembling. “You’re dead, you can’t be real!”

Norton grabs Eli’s hand with his other hand and pries the man’s fingers off of him, taking several steps back as he watches Eli reach up to clutch as his head, eyes squeezing shut as he starts rambling to himself unintelligibly. Norton jumps when he feels a weight on his shoulder, only to realize that it’s Evans next to him, touching him cautiously.

“He’s one fucked up kid,” he says tiredly, looking over at Eli, who’s fallen to his knees and is ranting quietly to himself like a man possessed.

The irony isn’t lost on Norton, who shudders as he watches him warily. “I’m still never going to sleep with you,” he tells Evans, and Evans chuckles dryly.

“Don’t worry, sweetheart, my powers don’t work on Priest,” he says with a smirk. “Pretty as you are, you ain’t worth risking his eternal wrath for.”

“You do know how to flatter someone, poppet,” Norton tells him, rolling his eyes.

“Norton!”

They both turn to see Dirk staggering towards them, supported by Farah, and Norton leaves Evans’s side to rush towards the two.

“Are you alright, love?” he asks Dirk worriedly, taking a hold of Dirk’s other arm and pulling it over his own shoulders so that Dirk can lean against him.

“He sprained his ankle,” Farah tells Norton, and Dirk winces.

“It’s not that bad,” he says, his eyes widening as he looks over at Eli. “What’s wrong with him?” he asks anxiously.

“Evans,” Norton explains, and then looks over to the side where Priest is still grappling with Eli’s doll. Norton turns to Evans and says with annoyance, “Oi, get him to call that thing off!”

Evans looks like he’s enjoying himself, however, watching Priest fight his doppelgänger, but Norton glares at him and he sighs mournfully before he makes his way over to Eli. He kneels down on the ground next to him, bringing a hand to the small of his back, and Eli visibly freezes up. Evans leans closer to him and says something in his ear, and Eli’s eyes widen for a moment before his terrified expression relaxes into something more calm, but no less afraid. He gives a small, almost imperceptible nod, and Evans pulls away with a satisfied smile.

“Syn!” Eli calls out to the Priest-thing, and it stops fighting with Priest immediately, looking over at Eli.

It’s ended up on the ground on its back, arms held up and pressing against Priest’s throat while Priest is straddling it and has his hands wrapped tight around the thing’s neck, and Norton maybe kind of finds some appreciation for the enticing view, flushing slightly at the sight, until Priest lets go of the thing and stands up from it. The Priest-thing pushes itself to its feet, and strides over towards Eli.

“Eli,” Dirk says, and Eli jumps at the sound of his voice, looking up at him cautiously. “We don’t want to fight you.”

Priest-thing reaches Eli’s side, and bends down to help him to his feet. Eli leans close towards it once he’s straightened up, looking at Dirk, and then at Evans, with fear and mistrust.

“Ingres said I had to stop you from leaving,” he says quietly, biting at his bottom lip. He looks over at Norton, and Norton shudders at the plain sadness in his eyes, doubtless directed at him. “I just wanted to play with Gerald again. It’s been so lonely since Frae died.”

Norton swallows nervously at his words, and startles when he feels someone moving to stand close behind him, but when he looks up, it’s just Priest, and he leans back against the man, feeling exponentially better.

“Eli, Frae _isn’t_ dead,” Dirk tells Eli, smiling weakly. “She’s alive, and she’s with us.”

Eli’s eyes widen, and he shakes his head. “But Ingres said-” he starts, and Priest cuts him off with a sharp, “Ingres is a liar, Lutkas.”

Eli flinches at his tone, looking down at the ground mournfully.

“Eli, if we take you to Frae, will you stop attacking us?” Dirk asks Eli. “It’s just that, the Universe gave us a job to do, and it’s sort of difficult to do it when you keep trying to stop me and take Norton away.”

Eli looks between Dirk and Norton, hesitant as he asks, “Is Norton your real name?”

Norton suppresses a shudder at the sound of his name coming out of Eli’s mouth, but purses his lips and nods curtly. “I’m not your doll,” he tells him. “And I honestly don’t quite like you.”

Eli looks genuinely crestfallen at that, but Norton doesn’t have enough heart to feel bad for it. Luckily, Priest wraps an arm around his waist possessively, and Eli stares at his arm with resignation.

“They’re _mine_ ,” he tells him, a dark, unspoken threat in his tone. “You’d know that if you fuckin’ listened to the Universe.”

“Then it’s settled?” Dirk asks, looking at Eli. “If you stop hurting our friends, we’ll bring you back with us. You know Mr. Priest is right; you should listen to the Universe, not Ingres.”

Eli nods meekly, and Dirk smiles, wide and relieved.

“Todd and Cerce are out cold,” Farah says, then, glancing over at the two on the other side of the street. “I think it’s better if we all went back to Boulder City and regroup.”

“But we’re so close,” Dirk says, although his brows furrow with concern. He looks over at Todd and Cerce’s unconscious forms, and then back at Farah. “The rest of you should go back, but I think Mr. Priest, Norton and I can go on.”

“You’re hurt, too,” Norton protests, scowling. “I hardly think you’re in any shape to be hiking up a mountain.”

Dirk shakes his head, looking at Norton with an uncharacteristically serious look in his eyes. “I’ve got a feeling,” he says quietly. “We _need_ to go now.”

Norton frowns at him, but Eli cuts in, timidly saying, “Ingres is on her way here with the others. She’ll be here soon.”

As if on cue, a phone starts ringing loudly, and Eli digs through his jacket pocket and pulls it out, looking at Dirk warily when he sees the caller ID.

“She’s here,” he says in a defeated tone.

“Fuck,” Evans says, and Norton wholeheartedly agrees.

“Alright then,” Dirk says, firm and determined. “All of you take the van and go back to Boulder City. With any luck, she’ll think we’re with you and won’t follow us to the Door.”

“How do you propose _we_ get there, then?” Norton snaps, annoyed. “Do I need to remind you that you can barely walk right now?”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Norton, I sprained my _ankle_ , I didn’t _break_ a leg,” Dirk huffs, rolling his eyes and adding, “Besides, Mr. Priest can carry me,” and glancing over at Priest. “It’s not far,” he continues with a shudder. “I can _feel_ it, I think.”

“You _think_ ,” Norton echoes, unimpressed.

“Whatever we’re going to do, we better do it right now,” Farah says decisively, stuffing her gun behind her. “We’ll try to keep Ingres off your trail as long as possible.”

She starts walking back towards Todd and Cerce, and Evans nods at Eli. “Come on, panenka,” he says cheerfully, and Eli looks disturbed, but follows after him, the Priest-thing in tow.

“This is a terrible idea,” Norton says to Dirk as the man pushes off him and makes grabby hands at Priest, who lets go of Norton’s waist and turns around obediently. “I just want it on record that I said that, so that I can say _I told you so_ when everything goes tits up,” Norton adds irritably.

Dirk hums amicably as he climbs onto Priest’s back, and he’s grinning widely down at Norton over Priest’s shoulder as Priest turns back around.

“Don’t worry, Norton, everything always ends badly,” he says with no small amount of optimism. “But we’ll figure out what this mystery Door is for and how to stop Ingres from releasing whatever’s behind it.”

Norton stares at him for a moment before he sighs and shakes his head.

“Lead the way, then, Mr. Holistic Detective,” he says sarcastically.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hiiii.
> 
> 1- The Mark looks like Keanu Reeves in the Matrix, I kid you not. Also, the Holistic Thief isn't _entirely_ the Mark; because he's a holistic something-or-other, he's able to be a dominant consciousness of the key, with the help of Laney's spell. The Mark of Cain itself has it's own consciousness, but it's not an actual living thing. Think of it as a spirit jar with an attitude; the Holistic Thief's soul was trapped in the Mark when he used it before and he died after passing it onto another host. Yeah, it's complicated. Basically, when the Mark sucks the lifeforce of its hosts, it also slowly sucks their soul into it. Yup.
> 
> 2- Chiquito is a Spanish term for 'little boy', used in a cutesy way. I think? Please correct me if I'm wrong.
> 
> 3- It wasn't explicitly mentioned and in case anyone didn't get it, Laney is Project Herodias.
> 
> 4- Friedkin is an idiot, I just need to remind everyone of this. It makes sense later.
> 
> 5- I kept typing 'Will' instead of Iggy because #Hannibal, sigh. That show, man. This is irrelevant to the chapter, I just wanted to share that.
> 
> 6- Priest's actual powers are revealed! His proper title would be a Holistic Variable; he tips the scales by making unbiased judgment calls - always for to the benefit of the Universe, obviously - hence his inability to 'feel anything'. It's also why he _doesn't lie_. I can't stress that enough. This is my headcanon. Priest doesn't lie, although like he said; no one ever asks the right questions = actual strategic not-truthing. Priest is the person the Universe calls to get things _done_.
> 
> 7- Táta is Czech for 'dad', and panenka means 'doll'. I'm not sure how clear this was made in the chapter, but Eli was abused by his father when he was young, before his father died and he was placed under his grandfather's care. His tendency to treat people like dolls stems from the fact that his father treated him that way for a majority of his childhood with him. Also, for extra context, Eli's grandfather died - from natural causes - when he was 8, and he'd reanimated his corpse indefinitely, 'fixing' him whenever parts of him started decomposing and pretending that nothing was wrong. Blackwing doesn't know this - in fact, no one but Eli knows this. He didn't think it was anything odd and he just wanted to keep his grandfather 'alive'. Evans used one of his worst memories with his father to subdue him in this chapter. It's a dirty trick, but it was necessary. Don't blame him!
> 
> 8- I kind of hate this chapter; it feels _off_ somehow, but Idk what else to do with it. Sigh.


	15. We found it.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Norton makes his choice, but nothing goes according to plan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reference for Project Abaddon can be found here: [Project Abaddon](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15859788/chapters/38797337).
> 
> Warnings for unexpectedness? I don't know what to say without giving anything away, but I suppose _multiple death situations_ should suffice. Also, fighting and scary things. I wrote this halfway between Halloween and November, so I was in a spooky mood, I guess.

There’s a mountain trail leading through the forest just outside the town Eli had constructed, and Norton uses Priest’s phone to light the path as he leads them up it, Dirk assuring him that it’s the right way. The trail’s not that steep, but it’s horribly uneven and distinctly inclined, and Norton wonders how Priest manages to navigate it so easily with Dirk’s added weight on his back when Norton himself nearly trips onto his face almost three times after only a few minutes between the trees.

“Where does this even go?” he asks irritably when he trips - _again_ \- over a stray, exposed root and leans his free hand against a tree nearby to catch his breath. “I am not equipped to be traipsing about in the wilderness, Dirk. What do we do if a _bear_ attacks us?”

He hears Dirk snort amusedly, just as he and Priest stop next to him. “I don’t think there’s anything we _can_ do if that happens,” Dirk says casually. “Except, maybe hope Mr. Priest will scare it away? Huh.”

“Oh, that’s very reassuring, I feel _much_ better about it, petal, thank you,” Norton replies sarcastically, pushing off the tree and pulling his jacket off almost violently, feeling suffocated in it. “Are you _sure_ we’re going the right way?”

“Almost positive,” Dirk says, and Norton’s too annoyed with their situation to even appreciate the fact that Dirk’s eyes are lingering over his arms in the dark as he starts folding his sleeves up to his elbows. “It’s not far from here. Somewhere. _In_ the mountain, maybe.”

“How do you even know that?” Norton asks, before rolling his eyes and feigning surprise. “Oh, right, the bloody _Universe_ , isn’t it?”

“You wanna switch places with Dirk?” Priest asks wryly, and Norton shoots him a glare before continuing up the trail.

“If we end up getting lost in here, I’ll be rightly _cross_ ,” Norton grumbles. “Just so you’re aware.”

“I wouldn’t blame you,” he hears Dirk say graciously from behind him. “Although, if you’re right, and we _do_ get lost, getting mad wouldn’t be very helpful.”

Norton rolls his eyes again, despite knowing neither Priest nor Dirk can see that. It’s only been ten minutes - as far as he’s aware - since they’d wandered into the forest, but it’s ten minutes too much of trekking through the wilderness than he’s used to, and it’s starting to grate on his nerves. Of course, his annoyance can be greatly attributed to the Mark having started quietly murmuring incessantly in his mind since they’d left the town, but he doesn’t want the two men to know that. It would too much like admitting another weakness, and he’s quite done with being weak.

“Norton,” Priest says suddenly, and Norton stops and looks over his shoulder irritably.

“What?” he snaps.

Priest points over at something on the ground next to him, and Norton turns to look down, only to see a plain looking boulder nestled between the roots of a thick tree.

“Yes, it’s a nice rock, Priest, I’ve never seen one quite like it,” Norton says flatly, and Priest scoffs.

“Look closer,” Priest says dryly.

With a huff, Norton does, bending forward to look at it. He doesn’t see anything, not at first, but a pair of beady eyes blink suddenly amidst the grey of the boulder and Norton yelps in shock, stumbling backwards. The eyes belong to a _huge_ lizard, speckled and thorny, its skin camouflaged perfectly against the boulder, and it jumps off of it towards Norton, who scrambles quickly towards Priest with a disgusted shriek.

“Kill it!” he screams as he takes cover behind Priest and Dirk, but the lizard lands on the ground and scrambles quickly off the trail, disappearing into the underbrush.

“It got away,” Priest says, at the same time Dirk starts laughing loudly.

“Oh, shut up,” Norton snaps at them, shuddering and looking around into the darkness suspiciously.

“It was just a lizard, Norton,” Dirk says between huffs of laughter.

“It could have been poisonous!” Norton says defensively, but Dirk just laughs harder.

“Norton could have died from a lizard attack, Svlad,” Priest says seriously, and Norton smacks his arm, hard.

“You’re an arsehole,” he hisses at him. “That was completely uncalled for!”

“I wasn’t talking about the lizard, anyway,” Priest says, nodding his head at the boulder. “I saw it come out from nowhere. Check it out.”

“How did you see _anything_ in the dark?” Norton asks incredulously, but he moves past the two of them back towards the boulder.

Dirk’s finally stopped laughing at him, and says, “Be careful,” and Norton waves his warning away as he hangs his jacket over one arm and crouches down next to the boulder, inspecting it cautiously, apprehensive that there might be another one of the things about to jump out from the darkness.

But Norton notices that the Mark’s gone quiet, all of a sudden, and his wrist warms up as he reaches out to touch the stone. There’s certainly an eerie feeling coming from it, now that Norton thinks about it, and when his fingers touch its rough surface, he feels a cold draft blow over his hand, coming from the direction of the tree the boulder’s pushed against. Norton shines Priest’s phone over at the tree, staring wide-eyed when a line of golden light appears on the bark, running up from one of its roots until it arches and runs back down another before the light floods through the outline like water being spilled. Norton stands, letting his hands fall back down by his sides and almost dropping his jacket as he’s bathed in the golden light.

“Is that-?” he hears Dirk start in a startled tone.

“A door,” Norton finishes for him.

“ _The_ Door?” Dirk asks, and Norton shakes his head, staring into the light.

“A portal,” Norton says breathlessly. “It’s a portal.”

The Mark hums approvingly at that, and Norton shakes his head, inhaling deeply and looking back at Priest and Dirk.

“Shall we?” he asks wryly.

Dirk nods, eyes fixed on the golden doorway, and Norton turns back to it, reaching a hand slowly towards the light. He feels a pulling sensation sucking at his skin as his fingers make contact, and he climbs onto the boulder and takes a step through the portal, eyes closing shut as the pulling sensation intensifies until it feels like he’s standing in front of giant vacuum.

His foot lands on the other side of the light, and Norton takes another step until his whole body goes through it. When he opens his eyes, he finds himself in a large, spacious cavern with a high, jagged ceiling littered with stalactites, and the pulling sensation leaves him abruptly. When he turns around, there’s nothing there but an uneven wall of stone that curves upwards into the ceiling. He almost panics, but then the golden light appears on the wall, although it looks like a jagged slash rather than the doorway before, and then Priest materializes through it, Dirk still on his back. The light blinks out of sight once they’re completely through, and the wall looks just like a wall again.

“Whoa,” Dirk says, looking around them with awe. “It’s a cave!”

“There’s no other way out from here,” Norton says, feeling almost resigned. “I hope this bloody Door we find is an exit as well. I’m not sure I’d like to stay in a cave for the rest of my life.”

“I don’t know, I think you’d make a good cave wife,” Priest says casually.

Norton shoots him a flat look. “As opposed to the appalling cave husband that _you_ would make,” he says.

Priest giggles, and Norton turns around, pointing towards the other end of the cavern with the hand holding his jacket. There’s a tunnel, there, and Norton’s realized that the reason they can see perfectly fine in the cave is because there’s a luminescent orange glow coming from the walls of the tunnel, which is bright enough to light up the cavern, as well.

“I think we’re expected,” Norton says.

Dirk makes a choked sound, and when Norton looks back at him, he’s squeezing Priest’s shoulders with his arms, looking anxious.

“It’s through there,” he says softly, uneasy.

The three of them make their way through the tunnel, looking cautiously at the source of the light. It seems to be emanating from the very stone of the walls themselves, and Norton makes sure not to touch anything, walking between the walls carefully. The tunnel’s not very long, and it exits into another, smaller, cavern with the same glowing walls as the tunnel, and the ground there breaks off into a narrow, precarious-looking path that leads to another tunnel. Norton stops at the mouth of the tunnel and looks over the ledge on one side of the path and sees a long, dark drop, the bottom so far down that the light from the walls doesn’t even reach it.

“Priest,” Norton says, looking back at him, but Priest just shrugs.

“We can make it,” he says simply.

Norton frowns, uncertain, but it’s not like there’s any other way to get to the other side of the cavern. He lets out a breath and nods, turning back towards the path. He taps it experimentally with a foot, stepping onto it more firmly when it seems fine taking his weight. Holding his arms out to keep his balance, Norton starts down the path, one foot in front of the other, and keeps his eyes up to avoid seeing how far the fall would be if he takes a wrong step.

He’s halfway over it, Priest’s steady footfalls close behind him, when the Mark suddenly speaks - “Move!” - and Norton hears a groaning sound coming from their right.

He turns to see a thin section of the cavern’s wall displacing, slowly swinging towards them, and Norton’s eyes widen.

“Don’t move!” he shouts as he takes a rushed step forward, just barely avoiding getting thrown off the path as the wall sails through the air between them and crashes into the other side of the cavern.

Norton stumbles, almost losing his footing, and he stumbles again when there’s another groaning sound and he sees another part of the wall cracking off, this time from their left.

“ _Run for it_!” Norton yells over at Priest, stumbling quickly over the rest of the path, and he falls forward into the tunnel on the other side, turning to look back at Priest and Dirk with alarm.

Priest is still midway over the path, where Norton had been when the first wall had swung, and the second one obstructs Norton’s view of them for a moment as it swings past, and Dirk screams in terror.

“Hurry, Priest!” Norton shouts at them desperately, his heart hammering with panic and worry, but Priest is already moving again, gripping onto Dirk’s thighs tightly.

They’ve almost reached Norton when there’s a third groaning sound, and Norton tears his eyes away from them to see another piece of the wall pulling itself away, and he tosses his jacket and Priest’s phone aside and reaches out an arm towards them, managing to grab one of the lapels of Priest’s jacket when Priest is close enough. He tugs as hard as he can, pulling them forward and losing his footing at the same time as Priest’s momentum works in his favour. He falls onto the uneven ground of the tunnel on his back painfully, and Priest and Dirk land on him, just as a gust of air and dust blows over them as the last swinging wall rushes past the mouth of the tunnel.

“Oh my god!” Dirk says loudly once the sound of the wall crushing against stone fades away. “ _Oh my god_ , we could have _died_!”

Norton’s breathing heavily from the panic and the adrenaline from the experience, and their combined weight on him makes it all the more difficult to catch his breath.

“A-are you alright?” he chokes out, looking up at Dirk and Priest, aware that it’s a stupid question. But he’s shocked, the realization that Dirk is right and they _could_ have died just moments ago sinking in slowly.

“We’re alive,” Priest grunts out, using the ground on either side of Norton’s shoulders to push himself up.

Dirk rolls off of Priest’s back and onto his arse on the ground, heaving. “We could have _died_ ,” he repeats, sounding on the verge of hysterical as he stares wide-eyed back at the path they’d come from.

Priest crouches and leans back on his haunches, helping Norton sit up. “Iggy mentioned traps,” he says grimly.

Dirk makes a strangled sound, turning his head to look at them both with terror in his wide eyes, his face deathly pale.

“This was a _bad_ idea,” he says faintly. “We- we should go back, I don’t- we can’t _do_ this. Why did you let me talk us into this?”

Norton shakes his head, although he agrees with him wholeheartedly. “We can’t get out the way we got here,” he says, swallowing thickly and craning his neck to look over his shoulder to the end of the new tunnel they’ve ended up in. “We- we have to keep going.”

“ _Traps_ , Norton,” Dirk says loudly, panicked. “Trap- _sss_ , with an ‘s’! As in _multiple_ potential death situations!”

Norton looks back at him, making a face. “I am _aware_ , Dirk,” he says, more harshly than he’d intended, and Dirk flinches at his tone, looking cowed. Norton grits his teeth and calms himself down before adding, much gentler, “But we _literally_ can’t go back. You saw that cave; no exits, no tunnels, except for the one we just came through. We _have_ to keep going.”

Dirk’s brows furrow deeply, and he looks helplessly between Priest and Norton as he miserably says, “I don’t want you two to die.”

Norton’s heart twinges at his words, and he reaches out to grab a hold of one of Dirk’s hands, squeezing comfortingly.

“We haven’t died _yet_ ,” he says, hoping the smile he gives Dirk is more reassuring than he feels at the moment. “It’ll take a lot more than filthy cave traps for you to get rid of _us_ , sweetheart,” he adds jokingly.

It’s a weak joke, by his standards, but it’s enough to get Dirk’s mind off of what had just happened because he manages to return Norton’s smile with a wobbly one of his own.

“The Mark warned me, about the bloody walls,” Norton says, glancing at Priest before looking back at Dirk. “I think- I could try to actively use it to avoid more of the traps. It _wants_ me to get to the Door, so it only makes sense that it would try to keep me alive.” With a determined look, he adds, “And I’ll make sure _you_ two stay alive with me.”

Dirk climbs back onto Priest’s back after they’ve calmed down enough to move on, and Norton picks up his jacket and Priest’s phone from the ground and leads them down the tunnel, feeling tensed and listening intently to the Mark in his mind. It’s gone quiet again, much to his annoyance, and he frowns to himself as he thinks viciously at it, _If they die, I’ll_ never _open your god damned door, you got that, poppet?_

The Mark says nothing in response, but Norton feels a wave of annoyance that’s certainly not coming from himself, and focuses on making his way through the tunnel. It’s longer than the first one, and when it ends, it’s predictably to another cavern, but this one lacks any gorges or deadly, swinging walls. At least, Norton thinks so.

He stops at the end of the tunnel and looks back at Priest, gesturing at him to stay where they are before he steps out into the new cavern slowly, looking around. The ceiling of this one seems to be at least 10 feet high above his head, and there are several thick, rectangular, uneven pillars of stone littered around on the ground, broken and chipped off. The nearest one to Norton is almost as thick and wide as a car, jutting out crookedly from the ground and broken off the top at about Norton’s height.

Norton approaches it slowly, squinting at one corner of it, which seems to have four jagged, parallel scratches torn out from from the stone, like the claws of an animal. Norton touches it gingerly, swallowing nervously when he realizes how deep and wide the marks are compared to his fingers, and backs away from the pillar, looking around. There doesn’t seem to be anything else of interest there, besides more scratched up pillars, and the Mark doesn’t say anything, either, even as Norton tries to prompt it into speaking.

Norton ventures deeper into the cavern, weaving between the pillars carefully, and finds another opening in one of the walls; another tunnel. He quickly rushes back to Priest and Dirk, then.

“I think the debris here _used_ to be traps,” Norton tells Priest when he reaches them, gesturing around at the pillars. “I’ve found the next tunnel, we should go quickly.”

Dirk looks around nervously at the pillars behind Norton as Priest hefts him higher up his shoulders.

“If those things were traps, _who_ destroyed them?” he asks warily as they start moving again.

“I don’t think I want to stay long enough to find out,” Norton tells him, shaking his head.

“The claw marks?” Dirk asks rhetorically.

“Some sort of animal, perhaps,” Norton agrees. “Whatever it is, it must be massive to leave behind those marks, and I’m not keen on facing something like that in this place.”

Norton’s walking round a pillar when he hears the sound of something sharp scraping against stone, and he freezes, looking behind at Priest and Dirk. Dirk’s staring back at him, wide-eyed, and Priest is scowling. Not one of them dare to make a sound or a single move, and then the scraping comes back, echoing throughout the cave, and Norton tiptoes over to Priest and Dirk.

“The tunnel’s just behind another three pillars,” he hisses quietly at them, gesturing behind him. “On the count of three, we bloody _run_ , got it?”

Dirk nods, but Priest isn’t even looking at Norton, his eyes somewhere over Norton’s shoulder, slightly to the right.

“Don’t move a muscle,” he bites out, eyes narrowing, and Norton stiffens.

“It’s behind me, isn’t it?” he mutters under his breath.

The Mark chooses that moment to speak, _of course_ \- murmuring, “Don’t panic,” like that’s helpful at all - and Norton has a split moment to roll his eyes irritably before Priest’s hand shoots forward, grabs him by the arm and jerks him to the side, throwing him into a nearby pillar painfully. Norton grunts as pain explodes across his back, dropping his jacket and Priest’s phone from his hands, and he barely has time to catch his breath before Priest is throwing Dirk into him, and the other man falls into Norton’s arms with a cry of shock.

Norton steadies Dirk as he looks up at Priest, watching him charge forward and colliding into a _huge_ , scaled _thing_ with curved thorns jutting out of its bald head and arms the size of three trunks, equipped with sharp claws growing out of its fingers. It roars, loud and deafening, as it tackles Priest onto the ground, the man landing on his back and his arms held up over him against the monster’s shoulders and jaw. It has what look like leathery _wings_ protruding from its back, and its legs look like a horse’s hindquarters, thick and hooved, and as dark and scaly as the rest of it.

“What _is_ that thing?!” Dirk shouts in alarm, leaning against Norton.

“Run!” Priest barks back at them before smirking up at the creature as it snarls down at him, opening its jaw and baring several rows of tiny, needle-sharp teeth.

Norton quickly pulls Dirk’s arm over his shoulders and tries to move them towards the tunnel, but Dirk drags his one good foot, looking over at Priest fearfully.

“We can’t leave him,” he says desperately, and Norton doesn’t want to, either, but out of the three of them, Priest has the highest chance of survival against the thing.

“He’ll be fine,” Norton tells Dirk, not even lying.

Dirk makes a disbelievingly sound, but he starts limping along with Norton, and they start moving much faster. Norton’s trying to tune out the sound of Priest’s grunting and the thumping of flesh hitting flesh, not wanting to alarm Dirk by showing any signs of worry himself, but it gets impossible when they’re just a few feet in front of the tunnel and there’s suddenly utter silence in the cavern. Norton pauses, craning his neck over his shoulder, but he can’t see Priest from where they are.

Muttering a curse under his breath, Norton rushes the rest of the way to the tunnel and pushes Dirk up against one wall of it, taking a moment to touch Dirk’s face and give him a quick kiss on the lips.

“I’ll be right back, love,” he tells Dirk, and Dirk’s eyes widen as he opens his mouth to protest, but Norton’s already sprinting back the way they’d come, ignoring the man’s cry of his name.

The spot where Priest had been grappling with the monster is empty, not a trace of the two at all, much to Norton’s confusion. He looks around frantically, but there’s nowhere they could’ve gone, not without making a sound, and then he sees something move out of the corner his eye, between two crumbling pillars to his right, and when Norton turns, the thing is flying towards him, hissing and spitting from its maw.

Norton doesn’t have time to blink, let alone move, gasping when the monster slams into him and pulls him off his feet. Its wings are surprisingly silent behind it as it beats them, flying them both high towards the ceiling of the cavern, its hands holding tightly onto Norton by his waist, and Norton tries hard not to panic, fearful that struggling would force the monster to dig its claws into him.

The monster swerves when it reaches the top of the cavern, banking towards one wall, and Norton’s shocked to find that there’s an opening there, an alcove about the size of a regular bedroom. The monster lands there, dropping Norton onto the ground, and Norton scrambles back from it, not daring to take his eyes off the thing.

His hand lands on something behind him as he moves, and Norton jerks away, turning to find Priest standing there, in one piece. He’s got bruises on his face, but he looks otherwise fine, if not annoyed.

“Where’s Svlad?” Priest asks, and Norton gapes at him.

The monster makes a grunting sound, and when Norton turns back to look at it, it’s diving off the ledge of the alcove, as silent as a whisper.

“What the hell!” Norton shouts, climbing to his feet and stumbling forward until he’s right at the edge of the opening, looking down with alarm. “It’s going after Dirk!” he says, seeing the thing dive towards the tunnel on the other side of the cavern.

“Relax, it’s a Project,” he hears Priest say, and Norton looks back at him, shocked again.

“ _What_ ,” he says thinly, just as he hears the faint sound of a terrified shriek coming from the ground behind him.

Moments later, the monster is flying back towards the ledge, and Norton scrambles out of the way, watching Dirk clinging fearfully to the monster’s arms as they approach. The thing lands gracefully where Norton had been just moments before, releasing Dirk, and Norton reaches out for him, pulling Dirk’s arms and gathering the other man close to his side, looking at the monster warily.

“Oh my god, oh my god, oh my _god_ ,” Dirk is muttering repeatedly under his breath, shocked and petrified, his hands clutching at Norton’s forearms. “What just _happened_?”

Norton doesn’t answer him, still watching the monster. Its eyes are large and pitch black on its face, and it’s staring right back at him, head tilted, its large hands and claws hanging loosely by its sides.

“Project Abaddon,” Priest says, walking towards them.

Norton and Dirk turn to look over at him, but Priest is looking at the monster, smirking wryly.

“They’re a shapeshifter,” Priest continues as he stops to stand next to Norton and Dirk. “They can turn into any monster they want, but they can’t seem to turn back into the human they once was.”

The monster makes a keening sound, and when Norton looks back at it, it’s got its head ducked down, and it looks almost _sad_ , although Norton has no idea why he thinks so.

“What are they doing _here_?” Dirk asks, looking back at Abaddon as well. “How did they even get here?”

“Abaddon escaped Blackwing a few months after I left,” Priest says. “Blackwing couldn’t track them back down. You been here all this while, Abe?”

Abaddon keens again, cuffing the ground with one hoof. Norton tenses up when they point a claw in Norton’s direction, and he looks over at Priest with alarm.

“I think it’s the Mark,” Priest muses. He reaches over and takes a hold of Norton’s left wrist, holding it up towards Abaddon.

Abaddon chuffs through their mouth excitedly, scraping at the ground with both their hooves now, and Norton pulls his wrist out of Priest’s hand and holds it protectively against his chest.

“What do you want with the Mark?” Norton asks them warily.

Abaddon shakes their head, thumping a hoof into the ground, and then they start shrinking rapidly, their form becoming smaller and smaller right before Norton’s eyes, and Norton stares as Abaddon’s skin stretches and pulls, and there’s an eerie series of cracking and snapping as their bones move under their flesh and they morph into something else. It feels like a painfully long time before Abaddon is no longer a hulking, winged beast, but a slender, grey-coated tabby with a long, forked tail that ends in two, deadly-looking stingers and a third eye on the centre of its forehead.

 _Open the Door, yes?_ , a voice echoes in Norton’s mind, different than the Mark’s - it sounds gravelly but soft at the same time, and there’s a child-like quality to it, and from Dirk’s surprised look, Norton’s sure that he’s not the only one hearing it.

“Is it- Are you Abaddon?” Dirk asks, looking at the grey tabby curiously. “Are you in my head?”

The tabby darts over to them and slinks between Dirk’s feet, rubbing their side against his calves before they stop and sit down on their rump next to him, looking up at Dirk with all three of their eyes blinking innocently in sync.

 _I help you open Door_ , the voice says, at the same time the tabby’s central eye glows white briefly. _I wait, like Universe said to. I’ve been good._

Norton stares down at Abaddon, feeling creeped out by their weird appearance, but also by their ominous words.

“You know where the Door is?” Norton asks them, and Abaddon looks over at him with their three eyes.

 _I know safe way_ , they say, sounding excited, and the tabby pushes off the ground and darts past them, deeper into the alcove.

There’s a narrow gap between a corner of the wall there, obscured by the glow of the stone, and Abaddon pauses in front of it, looking at them over their shoulder expectantly. Norton looks over at Dirk and Priest, and Priest nods towards Abaddon with a shrug.

“Ain’t like we can climb back down ourselves, anyway,” he says reasonably.

Norton breathes out a resigned sigh, and Dirk pushes away from him to climb onto Priest’s back. Abaddon waits until the three of them are right behind them before they turn around and trots through the opening, Norton squeezing through after them before Priest and Dirk somehow manage to follow without Dirk getting off the other man.

The opening leads down a tunnel similar to the ones they’d been going through, but this one glows a pale, violet hue instead, and Norton has to squint to make out Abaddon’s form in front of him because their grey fur blends in almost perfectly into the walls and the stone ground.

“What do you know about the Door, Abaddon?” Norton asks them as they walk.

 _Nothing_ , Abaddon replies easily. _Universe said wait here for key. Scare others away. Eat them if I want._

Norton makes a face at the eating part of Abaddon’s explanation, and shakes his head to clear the horrifying images that come to mind.

“Other people have been here?” Dirk asks, surprised. “ _How_?”

 _Don’t know_ , Abaddon replies. _The mountain have many doors. Many traps. Universe said wait here. Key come from lowest door._

“How long have you been here, Abaddon?” Dirk asks.

 _Many hours_ , Abaddon answers, this time sounding softer, sadder. _Quiet here. Like dead._

“Abaddon, after we find the Door, is there something else you need to do?” Dirk asks Abaddon, sounding determined, and Norton suspects he knows where Dirk is going with the conversation.

 _Hmm, Universe stop talking_ , Abaddon tells them. _Wait here, open Door. Then nothing._

“Would you like to come with us, then?” Dirk asks, and Abaddon falters, stopping on the ground and turning to look up at Dirk slowly. “After we find the Door, would you like to leave with us? We’ve got a lot of friends. I’m a Holistic Detective! You can help me solve cases!”

Abaddon stares silently for a long moment, and then their eyes drift over to Priest, wary. _Don’t like bad man_ , they say sullenly. _Make me feel tired._

Norton snorts amusedly, glancing back at Priest and Dirk, and Dirk makes a face before smiling at Abaddon.

“You won’t have to be with Mr. Priest,” he says. “There’s plenty of us you could spend time with.” He pauses, and his smile takes on a wan quality as he adds, “You don’t have to be alone anymore.”

Abaddon is silent again, their eyes dropping from Dirk and Priest down to the ground, and then they nod slightly, timid.

 _I like that_ , they say quietly, and Dirk beams brightly at their answer.

“What’s your name, then?” Dirk asks, as Abaddon turns around and starts moving again and the rest of them follow. “Only, Abaddon’s just what Blackwing called you.”

 _I don’t know name_ , Abaddon says and their tone gives Norton the impression that they would be shrugging if they were human. _Don’t need one._

“You _didn’t_ need one,” Dirk corrects them. “You will when you’ve got friends and we don’t know what to call you.”

 _Abaddon is good_ , Abaddon says hesitantly, adding, _Bad man call Abe. I like Abe._

“If you don’t like Priest, why would you like a nickname he gives you?” Norton asks, raising a brow sceptically.

 _Don’t like feeling tired only_ , Abaddon says, huffing. _Bad man fight good._

Priest giggles then, and Norton rolls his eyes, not sure why he’d expected anything else.

The tunnel diverges then, breaking off into two separate, narrower tunnels, and Abaddon unhesitatingly goes down the left one. It’s much shorter than the tunnel they’d come from, and it exits out into an enormous cavern with smoothed out walls that glow violet. Abaddon stops at the mouth of the opening, and Norton stands next to them, paling when he looks down and sees that it’s a good twenty feet drop to the ground below from where they’re standing.

 _I fly_ , Abaddon says, and Norton yelps when they grow suddenly and quickly, taking up nearly all the space around the opening and squeezing Norton against one jagged wall.

Abaddon’s back to their demonic, winged form, turning to look at Norton expectantly, and Norton swallows hard before reaching a hand out to place it in one of Abaddon’s extended, open palms. Abaddon closes it and holds onto Norton firmly, and then wraps an arm around Priest and Dirk before jumping out the tunnel. Dirk makes a choked, alarmed sound, and Norton has to bite his lip to stop his own shriek from escaping. Abaddon is fast, however, and they land on the ground carefully a mere few seconds later.

Norton lets go of them quickly, glad for the flat, solid surface under his feet, and looks around the cavern. There are a large number of stalagmites all over the floors, of different shapes and sizes, and at one end of it, there’s a flat, square platform that looks completely out of place among the jagged stone ground. It looks smooth like the walls, and in the centre of it is a thin, door-shaped stone arch that’s empty in the centre.

Norton feels the Mark flare on his wrist, and a wave of foreign excitement washes over him. The Mark’s presence in his chest tugs him towards the arch, and Norton follows it reluctantly.

“Norton?” he just barely hears Dirk call out to him, and Norton shakes his head, staring at the arch as he gets closer and closer to it.

“ _The Door_ ,” the Mark murmurs happily in his mind.

Norton’s a foot away from the arch when the burning on his wrist intensifies, and he hisses as he holds it to his chest, at the same time the stone of the arch starts glowing gold dimly. Norton takes a step back from it, ignoring the Mark’s protests - “Go back to it!” - and staring wide-eyed at the arch as the glowing brightens steadily until it spreads out across its empty frame. It pulses, once, and then a second time, and the glow darkens into something more opaque, and then it flashes before fading away rapidly.

It leaves behind a familiar door, the same stone door the Mark had shown Norton before, with the wrought-iron bars and the hand-shaped lock in the centre.

The ground rumbles gently under their feet, and Norton turns around to look at Priest and Dirk, who are now standing just before the ledge of the platform with Abaddon next to them, and the three of them are staring at the Door behind Norton.

“We found it,” Norton says needlessly.

Dirk nods slowly, and then his eyes widen and he digs behind him and pulls out a black glove - the war-machine.

“You _brought_ that?” Norton demands, taking a step back from them, clutching his wrist to his chest again.

“I had a hunch that I should,” Dirk says, sheepish and apologetic.

“Well, keep that thing away from me!” Norton snaps uneasily, turning around and staring at the Door. “It’s- I’m _not_ using it.”

“Not yet,” the Mark tells him, and Norton hisses out loud, “ _Shut up_.”

“Is it the Mark?” he hears Dirk ask, and Norton makes a choked, annoyed sound of affirmation, nodding.

“What do we do now?” Priest asks.

“We can’t _move_ it,” Dirk answers obviously and Priest sighs loudly with annoyance. “Abe, you said there were more entrances to this place. How many _exactly_?”

Whatever Abaddon’s answer is, Norton can’t hear or see it; he’s staring at the Door, the Mark telling him what’s behind it.

“A monster,” it whispers in his mind. “Evil, immortal. Wherever it goes, whatever it touches, death is always the result. _Kill it_.”

Norton swallows thickly at its words. He can almost _feel_ the creature beyond the Door that the Mark is describing to him. If he concentrates hard enough, he can taste its fury through the stone, emanating like toxic radiation. Norton can just about hear it breathing, a quiet thump-thump-thump of whatever excuse of a heart it has reverberating through Norton’s whole body, and there’s a part of him that _wants_ to use the war-machine and destroy this thing.

_It’s death and it won’t be stopped._

“Norton.”

Norton jumps when a hand touches his elbow gently, only slightly relaxing when he sees that it’s only Dirk. He’d gotten off of Priest, and is standing with his weight leaning on his good foot next to Norton. His face is contorted with worry as he looks at Norton, eyes wide and anxious.

“There are seven entrances, including the one we came in from,” Dirk tells him slowly. “Abe says if we destroy the traps for each entrance, we can cause a cave-in and the Door will be buried down here. Maybe forever.”

Norton tears his eyes away from Dirk’s face and looks back over at the Door. The Mark’s grumbling unhappily at Dirk’s words, but Norton feels immensely relieved.

“I won’t have to use the machine,” he mutters quietly to himself.

“No, you won’t,” Dirk agrees, squeezing Norton’s elbow gently.

Norton looks away from the Door and then back at Dirk. Dirk’s smiling, still nervous and uneasy, but trying to be encouraging. Norton can’t bring himself to smile back. Dirk looks tired, and bruised, and his hair is a mess. Norton’s sure he’s not in much better shape himself, but Dirk looks so _young_ in the violet glow of the cavern, and Norton’s heart clenches at the sight.

Here stands a man, taken by strangers as a child to be experimented on and treated like a rare specimen instead of a human being, and he’s trying to be strong and comforting for Norton. _Norton_ , who hardly deserves the kindness and care - the unrestrained _love_ \- that Dirk’s been giving him up till now, not with the awful things he’s done in the past - things he _still_ doesn’t regret doing, even now. Norton’s not sure if its irony or simply a cruel twist of fate on Dirk’s part.

If Norton doesn’t use the Mark and the war-machine and kill whatever monstrosity is behind the Door, _someone_ else will come by it and try all this, all over again, and _Dirk_ is the one that will suffer for it.

_This is it._

It’s _really_ not much of a _choice_ at all.

Norton feels his eyes stinging, and he takes a step back from Dirk, reaching a hand out and taking the war-machine from Dirk’s other hand. Dirk looks at him confusedly, letting it go without a fight, and Norton slips the machine over his hand without taking his eyes off of Dirk’s.

“I love you,” Norton breathes out, and Dirk’s eyes widen comically.

Norton feels the Mark humming happily as his wrist stops burning, and the war-machine stiffens over his hand and his fingers, lengthening up his forearm until it expands all the way to his shoulder, growing heavier and tougher. The back of it starts making clicking sounds, and then sharp, pointed flaps flare up along it, like glimmering, black shells.

“No, Norton!” Dirk protests, but Norton shakes his head, backing away from Dirk.

“I love you both,” he says weakly, glancing over at Priest.

He can feel the Mark inside his head more acutely, now, and he experiences a moment of disorientation where he’s not quite sure whether he’s Norton Folgate or the Mark of Cain, as feelings and memories that aren’t his start flowing through his mind much faster and much smoother than before.

“Norton, take it off!” Dirk shouts, reaching forward for him.

Norton sidesteps him, and Dirk stumbles when the ground starts shaking violently.

“It’s too late,” Norton tells Dirk, just as pieces of stone and broken off stalactites start raining down from the ceiling of the cavern.

“Get out of here, all of you!” Norton tells them desperately.

“I’m not _leaving_ you!” Dirk shouts back, yelping when he loses his footing and falls onto the ground on his rump.

Abaddon moves over to him and bends down to help him up, Priest following close but staring at Norton grimly, his hands clenched tight by his sides.

“I’m sorry I lied to you,” Norton tells him, wincing apologetically.

The ground starts shaking even worse, then, and Norton turns his back to them, facing the Door. Inhaling deeply, he reaches his machine-encased hand out towards it, and it fits perfectly into the lock. The Door groans, a loud, deafening sound that sends a cold wave of resignation flooding through Norton, and he’s about to turn it to unlock the Door when there’re suddenly loud bangs and thudding coming from above them, and Norton doesn’t know what’s happening, but _the Mark_ knows; someone’s tearing the cavern apart from the outside, and they’ll all be crushed by falling stone and granite if they don’t _move_.

Norton stiffens and looks up at the roof with wide-eyes, staggering where he stands as the roof of the cavern splits open with a thundering crack and the ceiling literally breaks in half, sending enormous chunks of rocks flying everywhere. One of them is dropping directly on top of them, and Norton pulls his hand out of the Door and instinctively points up at it, and the rock explodes in mid-air, flying all over the cavern in smaller pieces.

“What’s happening?!” he hears Dirk shout, panicked, and he looks over at him, seeing Abaddon shielding him and Priest from stray rocks with their wings and their enormous arms.

The war-machine seems equipped with defensive measures, because Norton himself is kept safe from the flying debris by some sort of energy field that blinks orange hexagons in the air everywhere a stone lands against it. Norton moves over to them quickly, and the shield keeps most of the debris off the other three as well.

“We need to find cover!” Norton shouts over the thundering sounds of rocks smashing against rocks.

Abaddon growls loudly and tugs at Norton and Dirk, nodding over to the other side of the cavern. Norton sees an opening, the mouth of one of the golden-lit tunnels, and nods back, tugging at Priest and turning him around.

“Get on him!” he orders Dirk, and Dirk scrambles to climb onto Priest’s back.

Norton moves to Priest’s side and grabs his arm, pulling him along towards the tunnel, Abaddon on Priest’s right and swatting away more rocks falling towards them. They manage to get to the tunnel without incident, and Norton makes sure the other three are deep enough inside it that none of the falling rocks can hit them before he goes back out to the cavern and looks up at the breaking ceiling.

There’s practically no ceiling _left_ , with the damage overhead, and Norton can see the glittering light of stars against the night sky outside. He spots movement over the edge of the jagged remnants of the cavern’s roof and curses when he sees and hears a large, military helicopter come into view in the air, several uniformed figures shimmying down a rope dangling down from its side entrance. There’s no doubt in his mind who they could be.

Norton goes back to the tunnel, then, exasperatedly telling the others, “It’s _Blackwing_!”

Dirk gasps at that, clutching at Priest. “What are _they_ doing here?” he says frantically. “What are we going to do?”

“We stop them,” Priest says darkly, and Norton shakes his head.

“There are too many of them, even for you,” he argues.

Priest clicks his tongue irritably, but before he can say anything else, Norton cuts him off. “No, Priest, we _leave_ ,” he says. “There are seven entrances. If we split up, we can buy enough time and find another way out. Abaddon can bring you two through safe paths.”

“What about _you_?” Dirk asks fearfully, and Norton gives him a wan smile.

“I’ve got the Mark and the war-machine,” he says, shrugging his armed shoulder. “They’ll keep me alive. At least long enough for me to find another way out.”

“I don’t like this,” Dirk says, tearing up as his gaze drifts down Norton’s arm.

“We don’t have much choice,” Norton says, as calmly as he can manage.

The cavern’s gone quiet, now, as the last of the roof finishes falling and the ground stops shaking. Norton turns around and looks out the mouth of the tunnel, seeing the Blackwing guards scaling down the walls quickly. Norton counts nine of them.

Norton turns back to the others and looks at Abaddon. “Abe, get them out of here, please,” he says. “Keep them safe.”

Abaddon nods jerkily, reaching out towards Priest and wrapping a clawed hand around his upper arm. Priest shoots him an annoyed look before glaring at Norton.

“You’re lying again,” he says.

Norton smiles weakly at him. “Would that change anything, right now?” he asks, rhetorical. Then he looks at Abaddon and nods curtly. “Go,” he says.

Abaddon pats Norton’s shoulder once with their other hand and then they surge past him, pulling Priest and Dirk with them. Norton turns and watches them jump into the air outside the tunnel and fly lightning fast across the cavern. The Blackwing guards land on the ground just as Abaddon flits past them, and they shout, rushing towards where Abaddon is headed.

Norton moves, then, pointing the war-machine at them as he shouts, “Over here, you lot!”

The guards stop and turn to look over at him, and Norton jerks backwards as the war-machine sends a explosive pulse of air shooting at them. The guards fly into the air with shocked yelps, flailing until they land several feet away, but the pulse hadn’t hit three of them as hard, and they rush towards Norton as they quickly recover, pointing their guns at him. Norton shoots again, but the guards roll sideways, out of the line of fire, and continue towards him.

Norton aims at a huge piece of debris to the side and waits until the guards are passing by it before shooting at it, and it explodes into tiny pieces that fly painfully fast towards the guards. They hit two out of the three of them, and the last one shouts angrily as he starts shooting.

The bullets bounce off the machine’s shield and land on the ground harmlessly, and Norton frowns when he realizes that they’re _not_ bullets; they’re _darts_. Tranquilizer darts, from the looks of them, and Norton has a moment to understand that they intend to take him in alive when he belatedly hears something land heavily behind him.

He spins around on his feet, but he’s a split second too late; he sees a flash of black before something sharp is jabbed into the side of his neck, and Norton chokes out a grunt of pain, staggering backwards. Whatever his attacker had injected into him, it’s _strong_ , because Norton loses all feeling in his body immediately, and his vision’s already failed by the time he blinks once.

He falls down to the ground, first on his knees, then to his side, and the last thought that flickers through his mind as he slips into unconsciousness is that Priest is going to _kill_ him when he finds out what’s happened.

\---

Dirk thinks he might be crying, but he’s not quite sure.

Leaving Norton behind; it’s a _horrible_ idea, he’s sure of it, but Norton had looked so simultaneously determined and resigned that Dirk hadn’t known what else to say to convince him otherwise.

He’s still reeling at Norton’s confession.

It hadn’t _just_ been a confession, even Dirk’s not thick enough to not have recognized that. It had been _goodbye_ and Dirk had been stunned.

He knows saying those words hadn’t been easy for Norton, but combined with the knowledge that Norton had chosen to let himself be consumed by the Mark and the war-machine for _Dirk’s_ sake had been too much.

Dirk’s brain had _shut down_.

_It was just like that incident with the Diamond Girl and Priest all over again._

Dirk doesn’t want to say it out loud, but he’d been glad when Blackwing had broken through the ceiling when they had. He doesn’t know what he would’ve done if Norton had really opened the Door.

He’s jerked out of his thoughts when Abaddon lands somewhere, and he wipes furiously at his eyes as he looks around at where they are. It’s another tunnel, with a violet glow, and Abaddon gestures down it, nudging at Priest’s arm. Priest makes an annoyed sound but walks quickly down it, and Dirk hugs his arms around the man’s shoulders tighter.

“I want to go back,” Dirk says quietly into Priest’s ear.

“Norton would kill us,” Priest says harshly, but Dirk doesn’t take it to heart.

He knows Priest wants to go back, too, but he’s right. Norton would hate them for it, and Dirk sniffs pathetically, burying his face into the crook of Priest’s neck.

“We can’t leave him,” he mutters into the collar of Priest’s jacket. “He’ll _die_.”

Priest doesn’t say anything to that, and Dirk chokes on the lump forming in his throat, knowing that it’s because Priest doesn’t _lie_.

Abaddon makes a soft, keening sound behind Dirk, and Dirk feels a gentle pat on the small of his back. He pulls his face off of Priest and smiles sadly over his shoulder at them. He can tell that Abaddon feels guilty about their situation, but Dirk doesn’t know what to say to make them feel better.

He’s saved the trouble when Priest jerks to an abrupt stop, and Dirk turns back to look over Priest’s shoulder, shocked to see a woman with long, black hair and cold blue eyes standing a few feet ahead of them. She’s staring silently, and Dirk shudders at her blank gaze.

“Icarus,” she says, and Priest growls in response.

“You’ve got three seconds to get the fuck out of our way,” he snaps, and Dirk stumbles to his feet as Priest lets go of his thighs and pulls his gun out of his jacket, aiming it steadily at the woman.

She doesn’t seem alarmed at all at the weapon, tilting her head as she studies Priest intently.

“Cain,” she says, and something flashes in her eyes. “If you’re trying to stop us, we don’t need _you_.”

Dirk makes an alarmed sound when Priest shoots, but the air flickers in front of the woman, and then a figure appears out of thin air, an Asian girl with short hair, and she deflects Priest’s bullet with the wide blade of a machete held in her hands.

“Cute,” Priest says sharply, huffing.

The woman with the black hair looks over at Dirk, and he freezes as he stares back, apprehensive.

“We won’t hurt him if you come with us,” she tells him.

“Don’t even think about it, Svlad,” Priest snaps without looking away from the two strangers.

Dirk glances at Priest, and then back at the woman. She doesn’t move, or say anything else, seeming just fine with waiting patiently for his answer.

“What do you want from me?” Dirk asks her cautiously and Priest shoots him a brief glare over his shoulder.

“We just want your help to open the Door,” the woman says.

And Dirk finally understands who she is.

“Ingres Lith,” he says. There’s a tugging in his chest as he realizes this, at the same time he feels a sharp, phantom pain in his neck, and Dirk swallows thickly, a singular thought rising to the forefront of his mind.

Something’s happened to Norton, he _knows_ it.

“Mr. Priest,” Dirk murmurs, reaching out to touch Priest’s shoulder. “It’s Norton.”

Priest stiffens under his touch, and he looks back at him with a dark look on his face.

“He needs you,” Dirk says softly, knowing without a doubt that he’s right.

Priest fumes silently for a moment, and Dirk knows he’s torn inside. Dirk reaches out his other hand and puts it over Priest’s gun, pushing it down gently until he’s aiming at the ground.

“I’ll be fine,” Dirk tells him in a shaky tone, tearing up. He’s not actually sure about _that_ , but he does know for sure that he’s right about Norton. He needs Priest more than Dirk does, right now, and Dirk will be damned if he doesn’t give him what he needs when he very well can.

Dirk takes a step back from Priest and turns towards Ingres, pursing his lips as he nods curtly at her. “I’ll go with you,” he says, trying to sound brave even though he’s so terrified of what’s going to happen that he thinks he might piss himself. “But we have to bring Abe with us.”

Ingres raises a brow delicately. “Abe?” she echoes.

Dirk looks behind him and gestures at Abaddon to come closer, and they do, shuffling hesitantly to Dirk’s side. Dirk grabs a hold of their hand and looks back at Ingres, whose eyes widen slightly at the sight of the hulking beast.

“They’re not as scary as they look,” Dirk says, shrugging.

Ingre smiles emotionlessly, nodding. “They’re welcome with us,” she says.

Relieved, Dirk moves to go over to Ingres and the Asian girl when Priest catches his wrist and turns him towards him, and Dirk’s surprised when Priest pulls him into a deep, burning kiss. Dirk kisses him back, feeling like crying again, and when Priest pulls away, he presses his forehead against Dirk’s, looking into Dirk’s eyes with an intense, dark emotion behind his own.

“Save Norton,” Dirk breathes against Priest’s lips.

“We’ll find you,” Priest swears, and then he backs off, letting go of Dirk’s wrist.

Dirk almost - _almost_ \- can’t bring himself to walk over to Ingres, but he forces himself to, taking comfort in Abaddon’s warm hand holding his own.

At least he won’t be alone, is his only hopeful thought as he gets further and further away from Priest, and closer to the leader of the Circle and his uncertain fate with them.


	16. A lost cause.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Circle explains itself and Blackwing is, well, _Blackwing_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reference for Project Bel can be found here: [Project Bel](Project%20Bel).
> 
> Warnings: Creeper creeping on Dirk, Norton whumpage, ~~kind of~~ Priest whumpage, torture using a shock collar and a modified cattle prod (you know, those pokey things farmers use on cows?), _very_ veiled threats of sexual assault/violence, mentions of self-harm. It's just overall kind of unpleasant for the boys. But everyone gets a little bit of it, so it's sort of fair, at least? Also murder and Bart. Yay Bart?

The tunnel they’re in leads upwards, and ends with a flat wall.

Dirk thinks they might’ve taken a wrong turn somewhere, but Ingres and the Asian girl simply walk through the wall and disappear through it easily. Dirk glances at Abaddon with surprise, but Abaddon simply shrugs, as if it’s a normal thing. The two of them follow after the women, and Dirk stumbles when they walk right into a cold gust of air.

They’re somewhere near the top of the mountain, from the looks of it, where the trees are sparse and there’re more cliffs than actual ground. Ingres and the Asian girl are standing a few feet from where they’d climb through the mountain wall. There’s a faint, barely-perceptible shimmering in the air next to them, and Dirk squints at it, trying to decide whether it’s real or if he’s just seeing things.

Ingres gesture at him and Abaddon to come closer, and the Asian girl moves towards the shimmering, disappearing into it much like when they’d walked through the end of the tunnel earlier.

Dirk gapes, walking towards it and Ingres slowly, and Ingres smiles at him, coldly amused.

“It’s a portal,” she tells him as he reaches her. “It’s time-limited, so we should hurry.”

Dirk looks at her dubiously, but goes ahead towards the shimmery air.

It’s absolutely nothing like walking through the tunnel’s entrance.

Dirk wants to scream because it feels like he’s being torn apart from the inside. Although there’s no pain, it feels immensely uncomfortable, but as Dirk opens his mouth, all the air inside him is gone, and he chokes instead, letting go of Abaddon’s hand to clutch at his throat. He’s walking through literal nothingness, and the tearing sensation inside him intensifies for a brief moment before he’s falling abruptly, landing onto his hands and knees on a grassy surface, and he can finally breathe.

He gasps desperately for air, wheezing, and when he finally gets enough air to calm his racing heart, he realizes that they’re in a garden of some sort. Except, everything looks _fake_ , and when his gaze wanders up, he can see that there’s a black ceiling with thick metal beams criss-crossing it.

He startles when he feels a hand on his shoulder, but it’s just Abaddon, who’s crouching down next to him, looking at him with concern. Although, with their monstrous face, Dirk can’t quite explain how he knows what they’re feeling.

“I’m fine,” Dirk tells them, anyway, his voice ragged. “That was a terrible method of transportation.”

Abaddon huffs through their mouth in agreement, growling lowly.

“Dirk Gently!”

Dirk jumps at the sound of his name being called out, looking over to the source of the new voice. He’s confused to see a somewhat familiar-looking man standing a few feet away from them, the Asian girl standing stoically next to him. The man is thin, and slightly shorter than Dirk, with black hair and that familiar face that Dirk can’t quite remember where he’d seen before.

“I’m really glad Ingres convinced you to come with her,” the man says, smiling warmly.

Abaddon rises to their feet, helping Dirk up to his own, as well, and Dirk gives the new stranger a pointed frown.

“Hard to say no when she threatened to hurt someone I care about,” he says cautiously.

The man’s smile takes on a more sheepish turn, and he rubs at his head. “Yeah, she tends to do that,” he says, apologetic.

“We’ll leave you to catch up,” Ingres says suddenly from behind Dirk, and Dirk jumps, turning around and moving closer to Abaddon as Ingres walks past him without a glance in his direction. “Don’t take too long, Michael; Blackwing was at the Door.”

The man, Michael, makes a face when Dirk looks over at him.

“Ken’s too smart for his own good,” Michael says sourly, and Ingres chuckles lowly as she walks past him, gesturing at the Asian girl to follow her.

The two of them walk through a doorway on the other side of the room with red curtains covering it, and Dirk looks back at Michael, who’s now smiling at him again.

“It’s nice to see you when we’re not trying to navigate through a battlefield,” he says, and Dirk scowls, confused.

“Have we… met before?” he asks slowly, tilting his head.

Michael’s smile falls, and he looks a little disappointed. “You don’t remember?” he asks, and Dirk glances at Abaddon before looking back at Michael, shrugging and shaking his head.

“Assistant?” Michael says, raising a brow.

“My assistant's back in Colorado,” Dirk says immediately, then realizes that it might not be such a good idea to let anyone in the Circle know that, and hastily adds with a nervous chuckle, “Last time I checked, that is. They’re probably gone by now, ahaha, who knows?”

Michael shakes his head, saying, “No, I mean, _me_. I’m Lieutenant Assistent, remember? From Blackwing?”

Dirk frowns, squinting at him, and then yes, he finally remembers! The panic-ky man that had helped him find Moloch! He remembers now, very vaguely, and recalls something about-

“Aliens!” Dirk says with realization, snapping his fingers. “You’re that agent with a thing for aliens!”

Michael makes a face, sighing through his mouth. “ _That’s_ what he remembers,” Dirk hears him mutter under his breath as he rolls his eyes.

“Wait, what’re you _doing_ here?” Dirk asks, even more confused now. “Did you quit Blackwing?”

Michael looks at him, shrugging. “I’ve got so much to tell you, Dirk,” he says, smiling widely. “Come with me.”

\---

Michael takes him to what looks like a library, a room full of nothing but books, books, and even _more_ books. There’s a long sofa in the centre of the room, and a metallic ornament standing next to it that looks like a golden sun encased in silver wires.

Dirk’s sitting on the sofa, and Abaddon’s morphed into their cat-form again and is sitting on the floor by Dirk’s feet. Michael’s settled down next to Dirk, closer than Dirk thinks is quite necessary, but they’re not touching, so Dirk doesn’t pay their proximity any mind. He’s still reeling from the hall they’d walked through to get to this room; there had been several doors along the hallway, and all of them had given Dirk the shivers, like something terrible lied behind each one of them.

“I was a Project,” Michael tells him, and Dirk stops looking around the room to look at him in surprise. Michael smiles wanly at his expression. “I’m a Holistic Messiah, Dirk,” Michael explains. “When I was a kid, the Universe told me that I could _save_ the world. But I had to find others like me, to help.”

“Save the world from _what_?” Dirk asks, frowning.

“From evil people like Blackwing,” Michael says simply. “People that want to use us, that want to channel our powers for selfish gain.”

“Blackwing didn’t do that,” Dirk says, although he’s not quite sure why he’s bothering to defend them when he hates them himself. “Scott just wanted to understand what we could do.”

“Blackwing’s not the only organisation that ‘collects’ people like us, Dirk,” Michael says, shrugging. “Anyway, it doesn’t matter. The point is, when I got older, I did find others like us. But every single one of them either got torn away from their families, or ended up getting killed trying to fit in with society.”

Dirk flinches at that, horrified at the thought, but Michael’s not done talking. “When I found out about Blackwing, I volunteered to join the program,” he explains. “I figured, if I got in, I could help the others there escape. Blackwing was pretty desperate for candidates, so they didn’t even ask me much when I signed up. I just had to pass their stupid tests.”

“You actually _joined_ on purpose?” Dirk asks him incredulously, unable to understand why anyone would do such a thing for any reason.

Michael smiles wryly. “It was for a good cause,” he says. “And it was a good thing, too. I found Ingres and Killian there, and a few others. Blackwing didn’t really know what the three of us could actually do, not in the beginning, so they weren’t too strict about our security. We managed to talk, and plan. After we learned everything about what Blackwing knew, we escaped.”

Michael reaches out suddenly, taking a hold of one of Dirk’s hands, and Dirk stiffens, staring wide-eyed at him.

“Ingres told us about a key that could open a Door to the Universe,” Michael says, looking at Dirk earnestly. “She heard about it from a clairvoyant psychic that died years before. The psychic said that if we opened the door, the Universe will connect everyone and make us all equal. No more holistics - just interconnectedness on every level. We wouldn’t have to be _different_ anymore, not if everyone were special.”

Dirk frowns, confused. That definitely doesn’t sound like the Door that _he_ knows about, and he’s not sure whether Michael is lying, or if he and Ingres and the rest of the Circle really believe this.

“After we escaped, we found the key,” Michael continues, blissfully ignorant of Dirk’s thoughts. “But we didn’t know how to use it. It wouldn’t respond to any of our powers. And then we heard about a Holistic Detective, and the Universe told us that we had to find ‘Dirk Gently’.”

Michael grins, suddenly, and his hands squeeze Dirk’s excitedly. “When we dug up info on you, we found out that you’d been a Project, too,” he says. “ _And_ that Riggins was keeping an eye on you! Universe, right? It _wanted_ us to find you. So, I picked up a new identity and signed up to join them. Friedkin was a moron, so it wasn’t hard to get in. I was so overwhelmed when you were there. I kept waiting for the perfect moment to spring you out, but I wanted to be sure you were _really_ the Holistic Detective, so I waited, and then all that mess with Moloch happened and I _knew_ ; you were _it_. The real deal.”

Michael had started leaning closer and closer as he spoke, and Dirk’s uncomfortably aware of how _close_ their faces are by the time Michael’s finished talking. He’s got an unidentifiable look in his eyes as he stares at Dirk, and an adoring smile on his lips, and Dirk leans back from him slowly, subtly tugging his hand out of Michael’s and placing it behind him on the sofa.

“There’s just a few holes in your story, Michael,” Dirk says, ignoring the disappointment on the other man’s face as Dirk shifts a few inches away from him on the sofa. “I’m not sure _what_ , exactly, that you’ve been told, but the key that you think is a key to the Universe _isn’t_ a key at all. In fact, the Door you’re talking about doesn’t _connect_ everyone, either.”

Michael sighs, looking away from him. “I didn’t think you’d believe me,” he says, almost sadly.

“It’s not that I don’t believe that _you_ believe that,” Dirk says. “It’s just that I think you’ve been gravely misinformed.”

“How so?” Michael asks, smiling indulgently, like he’s just humouring him.

Dirk shakes his head. “This key that you think is a key, it’s a _dangerous_ alien weapon, and the actual key doesn’t open a Door to _the_ Universe,” he says emphatically, “It opens a Door to _a_ universe; a pocket dimension that’s keeping a monster locked away, a monster so awful that other psychics in the past couldn’t kill it.”

Michael raises a brow skeptically at him, but Dirk continues quickly before he can interrupt, “Opening that Door won’t make everyone _connected_ , Michael, unless by connected, you mean _dead_.”

Michael scoffs, “That’s ridiculous.”

“As ridiculous as you all ignoring the Universe right now?” Dirk says, taking a shot in the dark. He’s actually not sure of this fact, but he’s guessed that since Eli had been ignoring the Universe in favour of listening to Ingres, it’s likely that Ingres, Michael and Killian are actively doing that, too.

It’s only after Dirk’s asked that that he realizes, however, that perhaps they _aren’t_ After all, the Mark had said that the Universe _wants_ the Door to be opened, and perhaps, by using these three, that’s exactly how it’s been setting its plan into motion.

Dirk swallows a lump in his throat at his own thoughts; he knows very well that the Universe is willing to do whatever it needs to in order to get what it wants, including sacrificing its ‘selected’ humans. Sacrificing _Norton_ to destroy an old threat. Using the Mark and the war-machine to kill the monster behind the Door might be a choice, but Dirk knows it’s a choice Norton is being pushed into making.

_He’d already made it, not too long ago after all._

“We haven’t been ignoring the Universe,” Michael shoots back, looking offended, and Dirk’s gut churns with apprehension at this confirmation, his worst fears founded. “It’s only because we’ve been listening to it that we got this far!”

“Michael, listen,” Dirk says, standing from the sofa, feeling too agitated to even register how the action sends shooting pain up his leg from his sprained ankle. “Whatever it is that you’re planning, for whatever reason; _please_ stop. You have no idea how many people could die because of this Door! _Innocent_ people!”

Michael frowns at him, and then he slowly stands, too, facing Dirk with a serious look on his face. “No one’s innocent, Dirk,” he says grimly. “And the sooner you realize that, the easier this will be. You’re going to help us figure out how to open the Door - the Universe said so.”

Dirk makes a face at him, flinching when Michael raises his hand, but Michael doesn’t hit him or anything; the air behind him shimmers faintly, instead.

“I’ll leave you to think,” Michael says. “But if you still refuse to help us voluntarily when I come back, I’m afraid we’re going to have to be a little more violent.”

And then he takes a step back, disappearing into the shimmering air, and the portal disappears with him. Dirk stares at the spot where it had been for a long moment before he groans and collapses back onto the sofa, burying his face in his hands.

Abaddon brushes against his legs before he feels them jump onto the sofa and curling up next to him.

 _He’s right_ , he hears Abaddon say. _Universe wanna open Door._

“I _know_ ,” Dirk mutters hopelessly into his hands. “What do I do, Abe?”

Abaddon doesn’t say anything for a while, and Dirk starts to think they might not even have a response at all, until they say, quite simply, _Open Door._

\---

Dirk falls asleep on the sofa some time later, tired and worried and thinking far too much, and when he jerks awake, he’s not sure how much time has passed. He’s alone, save for Abaddon, also dozing against his side, and his ankle throbs with more intensity.

He flinches, wishing his so-called powers were actually useful enough to heal himself, and sits up slowly, looking around. The room hasn’t changed since he’d fallen asleep, not that he’s really expecting it to have, but he’s not sure what he’s supposed to do now besides just _wait_

_He really hates waiting._

He’s leaning back against the sofa, absently running a hand through Abaddon’s soft fur next to him when the air displaces a few feet in front of the sofa, and the Asian girl appears out of nowhere, startling him.

“Hi?” Dirk greets her cautiously when she doesn’t say anything, just stands there and stares at him silently.

“Lulu’s with you guys, right?” she says after a moment, eyes narrowing.

“Uh, yes?” Dirk answers her, unsure of what she wants.

The girl purses her lips. “Is she-?” she starts, and then stops abruptly, frowning before continuing, almost hesitant, “Is she happy?”

Dirk’s brows rise on his forehead, caught off-guard at the unexpected question. “I would think so,” he says slowly. “She sounded like she was having the time of her life, last I heard.”

The girl’s frown deepens. She seems confused, conflicted, even. Dirk feels sorry for her.

“Are _you_?” Dirk asks her, and she scowls at him.

“Am I what?” she asks.

“Are _you_ happy?” Dirk clarifies, and the girl’s eyes widen as she takes a step back from him, looking even more confused.

It’s Dirk’s turn to be confused when the girl shakes her head and turns around before disappearing as abruptly as she’d appeared, leaving him alone once more. Dirk feels Abaddon stand from his side, and when he looks down at them, they’re stretching languidly before sitting down and licking at their paw.

 _Sad girl was sad_ , they say offhandedly and Dirk raises a brow down at them.

“I have no idea what just happened,” he confesses.

 _Get ready_ , Abaddon suggests, and Dirk is even more puzzled, until he blinks, and then there’s a weight on his lap, and he finds that Mona’s sitting on him quite casually, looking at him with a smile.

“Mona!” Dirk says, glad to finally see a - _welcomed_ \- familiar face, and throws his arms around her, hugging her tightly, feeling giddy.

“Hi, Dirk,” he hears her say, and he pulls away to look at her.

“Have you been with us this whole time?” Dirk asks her, and she nods.

“I was your tie,” she giggles, looking sheepish, and Dirk looks down at himself to find that his tie is indeed missing.

He blushes brightly, afterwards, once the implications of her statement dawn on him fully; the fact that Mona had not only been witness to but also an unwitting participant in Priest’s brand of ‘punishment’ for Norton their first night in Colorado. Poor Mona! The knowledge is positively mortifying, and Dirk wishes the ground would just swallow him up and save him the embarrassment.

“Oh god,” he says, burying his burning face in his hands. “I am _so_ sorry.”

Mona climbs off of him and gets to her feet, and when Dirk feels slightly less chagrined enough to look up at her, she’s blushing lightly, too.

“It wasn’t bad,” she says, shrugging. “I didn’t mind that much.”

“Promise me you won’t tell anyone about it,” Dirk pleads.

Mona smiles, making a zipping motion over her lips with her fingers. “Gentlemen don’t kiss and tell,” she says, quoting Norton, and then adds, “Ladies, too.”

Dirk smiles at her gratefully and Mona holds her hand out at him. “Let’s go,” she says. “I’m helping you escape.”

Dirk beams brightly at that, and quickly takes her hand, letting her pull him off the sofa and lead him towards the door of the room. He has to limp to keep up with her, but it’s not that bad. He glances back to see Abaddon at their heels, and then looks over at Mona, who’s testing the knob. It’s locked, and she looks back at Dirk.

“Break it, okay?” she says, and then Dirk’s suddenly holding a hammer instead of her hand.

He slams the hammer against the knob as hard as he can manage, and it breaks off, causing the door to click open, and then Mona’s back to holding Dirk’s hand.

“I can turn into a helicopter and fly us all out of here,” Mona explains as she pulls the door open and leads them out the hallway. “But we need to get back to the garden room. It’s big enough for me to change and I can break down one of the walls there.”

Dirk nods, not having any better ideas himself. They’re not quite running, but walking quickly down the hall - or hobbling, in his case. Mona leads, because Dirk’s not quite sure where the garden room had been, not remembering the way Michael had led him, and he trusts Mona’s sense of direction more than his own.

It’s not long before Mona stops suddenly, and Dirk bumps into her back, confused. He looks over her shoulder to see Ingres standing a few feet away from them, frowning deeply.

“Are you trying to escape?” she asks rhetorically.

“We don’t want to hurt you,” Mona tells her, squeezing Dirk’s hand, and Dirk panics.

“Ingres, we don’t want to fight,” Dirk says, taking a step forward to stand next to Mona.

Ingres eyes him coldly, and Dirk swallows down his nervousness to blurt out, “We found your brother!”

Ingres looks confused for a moment before her eyes widen, and the emotion looks out of place on her when all Dirk’s seen so far has been blankness and grim humour.

“What?” she says sharply after she recovers from her shock.

Dirk ignores the urge to cower from the dangerous expression that settles on her face, and quickly says, “Iggy! We found Iggy!”

Ingres’s hands clench into fists by her sides, and she snaps, “Iggy’s _dead_.”

Dirk can’t help but laugh dryly at that, telling her, “Funny, he thought that about you, too.”

Ingres sneers at him, and Dirk flinches, regretting that. “Alright, it’s _not_ funny,” he says hastily. “But it’s true! We found Iggy, in Boulder City. And when we told him about you, he thought that you were dead.”

Ingres shakes her head, and she looks less dangerous now, but wary and slightly furious. “If you’re lying-” she starts.

Dirk shakes his head frantically. “No, _believe me_ , I wouldn’t lie about that,” he says.

“Prove it,” Ingres hisses, her eyes flashing, and they’re not blue, anymore, but yellowish-green with vertical slits for pupils.

Dirk swallows again, and tries to remember what Iggy had told them. “His name is Egres but everyone calls him Iggy,” he says, quickly, desperately. “The two of you were raised in a circus, a freak circus. The ringmaster was a- a _terrible_ person, and one day, you pissed him off, and Iggy thought that you died because he fed you to the lions.”

Ingres frowns deeply, looking dubious but not as murderous as she had just moments before.

Driven by the familiar instinct to speak without thinking, Dirk adds in an anxious tone, “Blackwing took him, and _you_ joined Blackwing when you found out years later. Except, Iggy was gone by then, and you thought he’d died, didn’t you? You thought Blackwing had killed him.”

Ingres’s eyes widen, and she takes a step back from them, paling visibly as shock settles on her face. Dirk’s surprised, too.

“I’m right, aren’t I?” he asks, relieved that he is, but unable to believe it himself. “Is that why you’re with Michael and Killian? Are you doing all this out of revenge because of the way the two of you have been treated?”

There’s a pained expression on Ingres’s face, and Dirk keeps talking, hopeful, now.

“Ingres, Iggy is _alive_ ,” he says. “He’s got a shop and everything, and he’s _helping_ people. He still remembers you, and he _loves_ you. He doesn’t think you would ever do anything to get innocent people killed.”

“Is he-?” Ingres murmurs, stopping and blinking rapidly, her eyes starting to shimmer with gathering tears. “He’s still telling stories?” she asks softly, a heartbreaking longing in her voice.

Dirk nods, smiling at her weakly. He’s stunned to see the tears start streaming down her cheeks, and a small, pained smile forms on her lips.

“He used to tell me stories all the time,” she says quietly, her voice thick with emotion. “After- every time the ringmaster beat me, he would tell me stories to keep my mind off the pain. He was really good at that. People paid to listen to him.”

Dirk’s heart clenches at her words, and he feels awful for them. “Ingres,” he says, looking at her sadly. “You can go back to him. He’s waiting for you. He’s waiting for his sister. He’s got a world of stories he could tell you. But you’ve _got_ to leave this place.”

The smile drops from her face, and she purses her lips. Dirk’s worried she might disagree, and he glances at Mona nervously. Mona looks back at him with uncertainty.

“Normal people are awful,” Ingres says, and Dirk looks back at her. “All they ever do is use each other, and when they’re not useful anymore, they throw them away like _broken toys_. Every one of them deserves to die.”

“Not everyone’s like that,” Dirk protests, shaking his head. “I have _friends_ , _normal_ friends.” He makes a face, amending, “ _Mostly_ normal. But they’re not holistic, or psychic, or anything, and they’re _kind_. I’m sorry you’ve had a terrible experience with people so far. But I’ve had that, too. I’m just lucky to find a family before you did.”

Ingres’s expression falters, and Dirk continues determinedly, “If you go through with the Circle’s plan, you’ll lose Iggy, too. Is revenge really worth losing your brother a second time?”

Her eyes widen, and she inhales sharply at his words.

“ _Please_ , Ingres,” Dirk says pleadingly. “Do it for Iggy.”

She looks conflicted again, but before she can say anything, one of the doors in the hallway behind her opens, and Dirk’s eyes widen in alarm as Michael walks out of it, followed by another, unfamiliar man. They’re talking, but then they look over at them, and Michael looks at Dirk in confusion, taking in Mona’s appearance next to him.

“What’s going on?” Michael asks.

Ingres is still looking at Dirk, and he sees her closing her eyes briefly before she opens them again, and glimmering black scales start appearing on her face and her neck.

“Last door to the left, behind you,” she tells them. “It goes up to the roof.”

Dirk watches with fascination as her legs start thickening, filling out until they tear through her pants and they merge together, and her arms fuse into her sides, too and she starts stretching upwards, at the same time her face elongates until her mouth becomes rounded like a snout. Her skin flares out along her face, curving inwards until she looks like she’s got flaps around her head. In mere seconds, Ingres has transformed completely into a giant-sized, black _cobra_ with two white rings around her neck, coiled in the middle of the hallway, blocking it completely, and Michael shouts behind her in alarm.

“ _Hurry_ ,” Ingres hisses at them, her forked tongue darting out in the air before she curls around to face Michael and the other man.

Dirk’s still too shocked and mesmerized by what he’d just witnessed, but luckily for him, Mona has better reflexes, and she tugs him along as she turns around and starts running down the way they’d come. Dirk hears something cracking and loud banging behind them, but he’s too busy trying to keep up with Mona’s pace to look and see what’s going on, wincing as his ankle protests painfully.

Mona kicks down the door Ingres had told them about, and Dirk squeaks in shock at her uncharacteristic violence, but Mona just pulls him through it without pausing. It leads to what looks like an emergency stairwell, and they start climbing up it, a bit slower with Dirk’s injury.

“She’s helping us,” Dirk says breathlessly as they climb. “Should we bring her with us?”

“No time,” Mona says in reply. “She’ll be fine. Probably.”

Dirk huffs, but they’ve reached the top of the stairwell, and Mona lets go of his hand, pointing up at a ladder set into one wall that leads up to a trapdoor in the ceiling.

“Go first,” she tells him.

Dirk obeys with difficulty, but he manages to reach the top of it, and the door isn’t locked, thankfully. He pushes it open and climbs out onto the roof. He turns back to peer down the ladder, and Mona’s already halfway up it, Abaddon curled over her shoulders. Dirk reaches down to take Abaddon into his arms, and uses one hand to clumsily help Mona up onto the roof.

“I can fly myself, so you just need to hold on, alright, Dirk?” Mona says as she looks around the roof.

Dirk nods nervously, holding Abaddon close to his chest.

The roof is mostly clear, and Mona walks a little ways to the side, presumably for space. When Dirk blinks, she’s gone, a white and black helicopter standing in place of where she’d been just moments before. Dirk climbs into her quickly, taking the pilot’s seat in the cockpit and putting Abaddon onto the seat next to it and fastening their seatbelt before doing the same for himself.

The sound of Mona’s blades spinning is deafening, and Dirk picks up the earmuffs he finds on the console in front of his seat and puts them on. He sees someone climbing out of the trapdoor on the rooftop through the window of the helicopter just as Mona start’s lifting off, and realizes with apprehension that it’s Michael. They gain altitude quickly, however, and Michael doesn’t do anything besides glare up at them as he gets smaller and smaller, the higher they fly.

Still, Dirk’s worried about Ingres, even though they’re getting away, and Abaddon senses it.

 _Snake woman strong_ , they tell him comfortingly.

Dirk nods miserably, still worried and guilty for leaving her after she’d helped them, but there’s nothing he can do about it now, and he hopes that she’s fine and that she’ll find a way to escape the Circle herself.

He definitely doesn’t want to be the one to tell Iggy that they’d lost his sister.

\---

“Never compromised, huh,” Adams says wryly, shaking his head with mock disappointment. “So much for my best agent.”

Norton doesn’t give him the satisfaction of a reply, but Adams clicks the button he’s holding in his hand, and Norton gasps as a current of electricity shoots through him painfully from the collar fastened tight around his neck. His body jerks against the metal restraints of the steel chair he’s sitting in as the current makes him spasm, and his wrists burn and he can’t even blame the Mark for it this time.

The shock lasts for less than a second, but it leaves behind a lingering, throbbing pain under his skin that has Norton breathing heavily to hold back any pained sounds he wants desperately to make.

“Tell me, Norton,” Adams says casually, pausing and asking, “I _can_ call you Norton, right?”

Norton glares at him in answer, and Adams continues, “Tell me, if you aren’t holistic, what _are_ you?”

Norton keeps silent, and Adams shocks him again. _Twice_.

“We had to scrape that contraption off of you with _pliers_ ,” Adams says after Norton stops spasming from the shocks.

Which is true; Norton had been unconscious throughout the process, but he’d woken up with parts of his arm raked raw, small patches of his skin red and bleeding, and it had _hurt_. They’d bandaged him up, but Norton’s arm still aches something nasty.

“The tech’s not man-made, at any rate,” Adams says, eyes narrowing on him. “But we ran tests on your blood, and you’re not alien.”

Norton bites back a smart retort that threatens to spill from his lips, and Adams shocks him again, pressing down on the button longer than is reasonable, and Norton clenches his jaw as the shock lasts much longer than before. It’s more painful than being shocked consecutively, and he’s gasping heavily for air when it finally stops, his head slumped sideways as he loses all strength to stay upright on his own.

“You’re trained for this,” Adams remarks unnecessarily.

Norton rolls his eyes, and he sees Adams smile at him coldly. “If pain isn’t enough motivation, I _could_ use different methods,” he says pointedly. “I like the old adage; you can attract more flies with _honey_ than vinegar.”

Norton tenses up at the underlying threat in his words, swallowing when Adams’s eyes wander over the bruises and love bites Priest had left behind on the skin of Norton’s neck.

“But I’ve got a feeling you’re far more _trained_ in that respect,” Adams says with a smirk, his eyes returning to meet Norton’s.

“Bugger off,” Norton hisses at him, finally breaking his silence. “You’re a vile piece of shit.”

Adams feigns surprise, throwing his hands up in the air. “Finally, some progress!” he says, chuckling. “Are you ready to talk, or do I really have to bring some eye candy in here?”

“Ha, and _again_ , ha, sweetheart, you’re a bloody _riot_ ,” Norton sneers at him. “Seems like you talk enough for the both of us, don’t you think?”

“Irrelevant,” Adams says dismissively. “Where’s Svlad Cjelli, Norton?”

“His _name_ is _Dirk Gently_ ,” Norton says through gritted teeth.

Adams shocks him again, briefly, and Norton forces out a choked laugh.

“Big man, aren’t you, hurting a helpless little boy like me,” he says breathlessly with a sharp smile. “Does that get you off at nights, Supervisor Adams? Me, at your mercy, making me cry out with pain?”

Adams glares at him, pressing the button as he fumes, and Norton gasps, but the smile on his face doesn’t falter.

“You’re a sick man, aren’t you?” he gasps, jerking against his restraints. “You like that? Am I getting you all hot and bothered, _Ken_?” The shock ceases, and he spasms, stuttering out mockingly, “I _c-can_ call you Ken, right?”

Adams shocks him again, and it’s the worst so far; Norton almost regrets egging him on, because he counts thirty-four seconds of pain burning through his nerves before it finally stops, and his eyes have rolled up to the back of his head, and he can feel saliva dripping out from the corner of his slackened lips as his body goes limp in the chair. He can’t move at all anymore, even when he tries, and his breath hitches when he feels something wiping at the drool trailing down his mouth and chin.

“It’s a pity,” he hears Ken say, his voice muffled and far away, and Norton worries that the last shock might’ve damaged him permanently. “You would’ve made a great agent, you know.”

Norton feels something sharp bite into the side of his neck, and he’s almost glad as his body goes numb and he quickly loses consciousness.

\---

Norton wakes up in the black place again, sitting down on the ground with his legs folded under him.

The Mark is burning.

In fact, the Mark is standing a few feet in front of him, locked in what looks like a heated argument with an agitated Friedkin.

“Oi, you two,” Norton calls out to them irritably, and they both stop to look over at him with surprise on both their faces. “Explain to me what in the sodding hell is happening right now or I’m going to carve the bloody Mark right out of my arm!”

The Mark’s eyes widen with alarm at his threat, even though they both know it’s never going to happen, while Friedkin just looks about as annoyed as Norton feels.

“This jerk told me the Universe wants to kill the thing that’s coming to fix it!” Friedkin says, gesturing at the Mark wildly. “That’s like, totally not what the Universe told _me_!”

“And _I’m_ telling you, it’s the truth!” the Mark shoots back defensively.

“I don’t give a _toss_ what either of you heard from the Universe!” Norton snaps. “I _tried_ to open the bloody Door, and Blackwing stopped me! And now they’re using me as a _pinata_ while god knows what’s happened to Priest and Dirk! Explain _that_!”

“Dirk’s with the Circle,” Friedkin says quietly after a moment of silence, looking uncomfortable. “I don’t uh, I’m not sure where Mr. Priest is.”

Norton glares hard at him. “If anything happens to _either_ of them-” he starts, but the Mark cuts him off.

“Universe keeps Dirk safe,” he says with a roll of his eyes. “And Priest is _Priest_. He won’t die. Yet.”

“Well, then, what’s _happening_?” Norton demands, furious. “What is the Universe _actually_ trying to achieve?”

Friedkin makes a frustrated sound, running his hands through his hair before he throws his arms out helplessly. “Look, all _I_ know is that you were supposed to like, get rid of that thing inside you,” he says, sounding put out.

“The Universe told you to get him to Evans,” the Mark corrects him, annoyed. “Not get rid of me. You need to listen better. Get him to Evans so that he can hear _me_ talk to him, not the Universe. Norton isn’t _psychic_ , he literally _can’t_ talk to the Universe, you idiot, and no amount of magic would change that.”

Friedkin shoots him a glare, defensively saying, “Don’t call me an idiot!”

“But that’s what you are,” the Mark says in a deadpan.

“Shut _up_ ,” Norton snaps at them both, and they look over at him with matching scandalized looks, but Norton’s too angry to care. “I _don’t care_ , do either of you understand _that_? What I want to know now is what the _hell_ do I do? I’m being held captive and _tortured_ by Blackwing, who, might I add, also has the war-machine now?”

The Mark makes a face at the vitriol in his words, and he has the decency to look ashamed. “The Universe wanted to give Ingres a chance,” he says quietly.

“A chance to _what_?” Norton demands.

“It doesn’t matter, not to you,” the Mark says dismissively. “You just need to hold on a little longer; help’s on its way, and you’ll get back to the Door.”

“How much longer is _a little longer_?” Norton asks, gritting his teeth. He’s not looking forward to spending a minute more under Blackwing’s ‘care’ and the Mark’s words are hardly reassuring.

The Mark shakes his head, looking apologetic now. “I don’t know exactly,” he admits. “I just know that you’ll get out.”

Norton scoffs at his answer, wanting very much to punch both the Mark and Friedkin in their stupid faces, but the ground rumbles quietly, then, the usual sign that he’s about to get booted back out to reality.

“If I survive all of this in the end, I’m going to use the damned war-machine on _the both_ of you,” he snaps at them.

The last thing he sees before he feels himself getting sucked out of there is Friedkin’s wide-eyed, indignant look directed at him, and Norton _really_ wants to punch the expression off of his face.

\---

He’s sitting in a different chair when he comes to. There are still metal clasps around his wrists that are keeping him bound to the chair’s arms, but the collar around his neck is gone. Still, the skin of his throat throbs with painfully, lingering from the shocks Adams had delivered, and when Norton manages to straighten in the chair and look up in front of him, his blood freezes in his veins.

“You’re supposed to be with _Dirk_ ,” he hisses angrily.

Priest is standing a few feet ahead of him, back to the room’s metallic-grey wall, and his hands are pulled over his head, held in place by cuffs with a chain that looks melded into the wall. He looks tired, but far too unbothered by their situation for Norton’s liking.

“Universe told Svlad that I had to come with you,” he says simply, giving an awkward shrug. “Pretty sure he’s better off than you, anyway.”

“I’m _fine_ ,” Norton snaps at him, glaring.

“Not from where I’m standin’,” Priest shoots back, smiling sharply.

“Says the idiot chained to a bloody wall,” Norton tells him in a scathing tone. “What was your plan, then? Annoy Adams to death until he lets us both go?”

“You seemed to be doing that just fine on your own,” Priest remarks dryly. “Never saw Ken that pissed off since the last time Svlad escaped.”

The wall next to Priest slides open then, before Norton could continue to criticize the man’s careless attitude, and Adams walks in with three other men behind him. Two of them are Blackwing guards, armed to the teeth with rifles and stun guns in their holsters, and the third one is a familiar face Norton would rather never have to see again.

“Norton, my love,” Jeremiah greets, stopping next to Norton’s chair.

Norton ignores him completely, fuming in silence as he watches Adams stand next to Priest with a blank expression on his face.

“Giving me the cold shoulder?” Jeremiah continues, feigning hurt. “Really?”

“This Jeremiah?” Priest asks, leaning back against the wall as he looks over the man with an unimpressed stare.

“I am indeed,” Jeremiah replies, turning slightly to return Priest’s stare with a smug smirk of his own. “You’re the savage that’s been keeping him company, I presume?”

“Do not talk to him,” Norton says through gritted teeth, glaring at Priest. He’s not quite sure whether he’s talking to Jeremiah or Priest, but he’s sure he doesn’t want to be where he is right now.

An ex and a lover, both in one room. It’s one of his worst nightmares come true, made much worse by the reality of how nasty the two of them could get. Norton’s not sure which one of them he’s more worried about.

 _“Pull his nails off his fingers, one by one,”_ he remembers Priest promising.

Jeremiah certainly deserves it, but Norton’s not sure he has the stomach to watch that happen.

_He has no doubt Priest will make it happen, if he really wants to._

“Honestly, Norton, I’ve no idea what you see in him,” Jeremiah says haughtily, turning back towards him.

Norton spares him a glance before glaring over at Adams.

“If you don’t remove this moron from the room right now, you’ll have more than just blood to clean up afterwards,” he tells him flatly.

“I don’t know, bringing him in here seems to be making you more chatty,” Adams observes coolly.

Norton growls when Jeremiah cups a hand under his chin and turns his head until Norton’s forced to look up at him.

“You look awful, Norton,” Jeremiah says, eyeing the bruises on Norton’s neck. “If rough sex was what you’d wanted, you should’ve just told me, love.”

“Small penis,” Norton tells him in a deadpan. “I’d rather like to feel it when my lovers fucked me.”

He swallows back the grunt of pain when Jeremiah lets go of him before backhanding him, but it’s worth it when he turns his head and sees the furious look on Jeremiah’s face.

“Pressed a button there, _love_?” he asks sarcastically, smirking. “I dare say, one of the perks of working for the Committee must be some physical _enhancements_ with how eagerly you jump at their every instruction.”

Norton nearly flinches when Jeremiah makes an angered sound and pulls his hand back to deliver another blow, but Adams snaps firmly, “That’s _enough_ , Mr. Henderson.”

Jeremiah glares over at him before he lowers his arm reluctantly, turning his glare on Norton.

“Looks like you’ve got a new master, Jeremiah,” Norton taunts, smirking again.

Norton can practically see the steam coming out of Jeremiah’s ears as he seethes, but his fun is cut short when Priest grunts suddenly, and Norton looks over at him to see Adams holding what looks like a cattle prod, the tip of it crackling dangerously with electricity. Noticing Norton’s attention, Adams looks him in the eye before he pokes the steel prod into Priest’s side.

Priest doesn’t make a sound this time, but his body does tenses up visibly, and Norton clenches his jaw as he glares into Adams’s eyes.

“Stop it,” he bites out when Adams doesn’t relent even after a whole minute has passed. “Don’t _touch_ him.”

Adams smiles coldly at him and presses the prod deeper for a moment before he pulls it away, and Priest relaxes, although his hands have clenched into tight fists over his head and his eyes are dark and dangerous as he looks up at Norton.

“Everyone’s got a weakness,” Adams says lightly, tapping the prod against the ground and looking away from Norton to eye it appreciatively. “For all your big talk and attitude, you’re still just like everyone else.” He brings the prod back up almost lightning fast and pokes it into Priest’s thigh, and Priest jerks against his restraints. “ _Weak_ ,” Adams says in a disgusted tone.

“Leave him alone!” Norton yells, straining against his own cuffs. “He’s- this is ridiculous, he’s _your_ agent!”

Adams barks out a nasty laugh, but he pulls the prod away again. “He hasn’t been _my_ agent since _you_ landed in his lap two months ago,” he sneers at Norton. “I should’ve seen it coming, after what I read about what happened between him and Svlad decades ago.”

“You don’t know anything about that,” Norton snaps at him, shaking his head. “You don’t know _anything_ , you’re delusional if you think that having Dirk here would help you control the damned Universe!”

Adams laughs again, this time sounding genuinely amused. “Says the alien that didn’t even know what a holistic psychic was up to a few weeks ago,” he says dryly. “You’re out of your depth here, Norton.”

“So are _you_ ,” Norton says in a frustrated tone. “ _Trust me_ , I know a lost cause when I see it. You can’t control it, Adams, no matter how much you want to. It only tells you things it _wants_ you to know, gives you toys it _wants_ you to play with. The Universe is beyond control, and you’re a fool if you believe otherwise.” Norton’s eyes fall shut as resignation fills him, his voice flat and hopeless as he adds, “Even _I_ can see that.”

Norton’s not sure whether he’s still talking to Adams or himself, but he knows that what he’s saying is true. Everything that’s happened, everything that _does_ happen; he’s seen it for himself, he knows that everything that happens is because the Universe _allows_ it to happen, because it _wants_ it to happen. He wonders if that’s what Dirk had meant, if this is what Dirk sees all the time, and he wonders how on earth the man manages to not just break down with the knowledge that despite whatever free will they supposedly have, the Universe is still the one that calls all the shots.

Norton’s already given up and he’s only tasted the Universe’s influence for a few weeks. He can’t imagine standing it for _years_. For all his life.

His heart simultaneously warms and clenches painfully at the thought of exactly how resilient Dirk actually is, at least until he feels a hand on the back of his neck and his eyes snap open to glare up at Jeremiah, standing far closer to Norton than he really has any right to.

“Tell the nice man where the boy he’s looking for is and he promises you can leave with me, love,” he says in a falsely sweet voice, accompanied by a smile Norton had once been stupid enough to think had been charming. “No more talk of sentient universes or savage psychics with bad intentions.”

“You’re just as daft as him if you think I want to go anywhere with _you_ ,” Norton spits at him, jerking his head until Jeremiah’s hand falls away from him.

Jeremiah’s smile falls quickly, and he makes a face as he looks over at Adams. “This isn’t working,” he hisses at him.

Norton watches warily as Adams rolls his eyes, lifting the prod towards Priest once again.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” Priest says suddenly, huffing out a laugh.

Adams frowns at him, glancing over at Norton with a raised brow. “Oh, really?” he says, trying to sound confident, but Norton can see the unease behind his eyes. “Would you rather I use this on Norton?”

“Go ahead,” Priest says, and Norton almost feels offended, except, Priest has a smirk on his face now, and Norton realizes a split second later that he’s somehow broken through the cuffs around his hands. “But I think Bart’s _dyin’_ to see you.”

Adams’s eyes widen comically at the same time Priest pulls out of his broken restraints and tosses them at Jeremiah, who shrieks indignantly as it sails through the air and lands painfully hard against his forehead. He staggers backwards, and Norton’s as stunned as he is when Priest tackles one of the Blackwing guards that had entered with them down to the ground, while the other shoots blindly in panic.

Adams covers his head with his arms and rushes behind Norton’s chair, using him as cover as he shouts angrily, “Stop shooting, you idiot!”

But no one pays him any mind as Priest snaps the neck of the guard he’d tackled in a swift, almost elegant motion before he grabs the guard’s taser from his holster and rolls across the floor until he’s next to the other guard. He jams the taser into the man’s thigh before he can react, and the guard screams as he spasms, shooting a few more rounds before his hands stiffen too much for him to keep a hold of his weapon.

Priest tears the rifle out of the guard’s hands and pulls the taser away at the same time before he stabs it into the side of the guard’s neck. The guard’s screams are reduced to an unintelligible gurgle and he falls to his knees on the ground, and Priest jerks the rifle’s muzzle into his chin and fires, shutting him up instantly. The guard falls to the side lifelessly, and when Priest stands and turns, Norton feels his breath catch at the _murder_ in his darkened eyes.

“I’ve been playin’ with those cuffs since I was in diapers,” he says grimly before he giggles. “Now, where were we?”

Norton hears scrambling next to him, and turns to see Jeremiah stumbling towards the wall with the door, slapping his hands against it desperately.

“Open up, someone!” he screams. “Open this bloody door right now!”

Norton hears Priest giggling again as the man moves and stops in front of Norton. He looks down at him tilting his head.

“Finger by finger, wasn’t it?” he says with a terrible smirk.

Norton shivers, his hands clenching into fists as he looks back up at Priest. “We don’t have time, Priest,” he says breathlessly, hoping Priest will listen. “Dirk’s with the Circle.”

Priest hums in acknowledgment, looking away from Norton and over at Jeremiah, still screaming at the door.

“He’s safe,” Priest says assuredly.

Norton shakes his head. “Please,” he says softly. “I don’t- we have to leave, Priest.”

Priest glances at him, and Norton tries not to feel afraid of this monster wearing the face of the man he’s come to know, and to his relief, Priest exhales and clicks his tongue annoyedly.

“Fine,” he grunts, hefting the rifle and pointing it at Jeremiah. “But you owe me one.”

Norton tries not to shudder at what that would entail, but Priest shoots Jeremiah in one leg before he can think about it for long, as Jeremiah screams in pain and falls down onto the ground, sliding against the wall.

“You _shot_ me!” he screeches, clutching at his leg and looking over his shoulder at Priest with terror and disbelief.

“And _she’s_ gonna stab you,” Priest replies, rolling his eyes.

The wall slides open then, and Norton’s eyes widen as he sees what looks like a short woman with wild, unkempt, shoulder-length hair, dressed in the same grey jumpsuit Norton had seen Dirk wear before, and holding a giant-sized pair of sharp scissors.

“Oh, hey, Mr. Priest,” the woman says in a raspy voice when she spots Priest. “Have you seen Ken?”

Priest giggles in response, nodding at Jeremiah, who’s stopped screaming and is cowering away on the floor from the newcomer.

“Don’t you feel like killing him, too, Bart?” Priest asks.

“No, no, no!” Jeremiah protests, shaking his head frantically. “Please!”

The woman, Bart, looks down at him disinterestedly and despite Priest’s earlier warning, Norton’s still shocked when Bart easily runs the scissors through Jeremiah’s chest. Jeremiah’s eyes widen as he stares up at her, before he looks down slowly at the scissors jutting out of his chest. His mouth falls open like he’s about to say something, but all that comes out is a glob of blood and when Bart pulls the scissors back out, he falls down onto the ground on his back, dead.

“Thanks, Bart,” Priest says, smug.

“No problem,” Bart says as she looks at Priest, shrugging. “I’m lookin’ for Ken.”

Norton’s still in shock at watching Bart kill Jeremiah, and he gasps when an arm wraps around his shoulders from behind and he feels the heat of electricity crackling close to the side of his neck.

“Nobody move or _he_ dies!” he hears Adams say warningly, his voice far too loud so close to Norton’s ear.

“Oh, hey, Ken,” Bart says, smiling suddenly. “I’ve been lookin’ all ov’r for ya.”

“Are you going to kill me, Bart?” Adams says in response, nervous and edgy, his arm tightening around Norton’s shoulders.

Norton watches apprehensively as Bart tilts her head and squints at him.

“Well, I _was_ gonna,” she says slowly, her eyes then moving over to Priest. “But now I think the Universe wants me to do somethin’ else.”

“Aw, and here I thought you were gonna kill Ken, too,” Priest says, sounding genuinely disappointed.

“Nah,” Bart replies in a drawl, nodding slowly. “I think- I think I was s’posed to kill _that_ guy,” she says, gesturing carelessly at Jeremiah’s prone body. “Now I think I’m s’posed to follow _him_?”

She points over at Norton, then, a surprised look on her face. “Oh, hey, Dirk!” she says, smiling brightly. “I didn’t recognize ya.”

A frown settles on her features, as suddenly as her smile, and she studies Norton closely as she asks, “Why do you look _dif’rent_?”

“That’s not Svlad, Bart,” Priest tells her, amused.

“Oh, okay,” Bart says, nodding as if that explains everything. “Well, let’s go, I guess. Universe is kinda not happy to wait.”

“No!” Adams shouts suddenly, and Norton flinches as the electricity near his neck moves close enough that he can feel it stinging his skin. “No one’s going _anywhere_! Bart, go back to your room, please, I have to deal with this mess.”

Bart frowns again, looking over Norton’s shoulder at Adams. “I don’t like sleepin’,” she says sulkily. “It’s borin’.”

“It’s for your own good, Bart,” Adams says, the tone of his voice tensed as he tries to sound calm and assuring. “You need to sleep, it’s in everyone’s best interests.”

Bart shakes her head. “I don’t think so, Ken,” she says slowly. She looks over at Priest, and nods. “Hey, Mr. Priest. I’m not s’posed to kill him yet.”

Priest smirks, and Norton feels Adams tense against him when the man turns towards them.

“One move and I-” Adams starts, but Priest moves faster than anyone can blink.

In moments, he’s grabbed the cattle prod from Adams’s hand and tears it away without much effort, and Adams makes a choked sound of alarm as he lets go of Norton and Norton hears him backing away quickly.

“Stay down,” Priest tells him as he tosses away the rifle in his other hand before he breaks the cattle prod in half. “Before I change my mind.”

“Y-you can’t leave,” Norton hears Adams say weakly.

“Did you get the keys, Bart?” Priest asks Bart, ignoring the man completely.

Bart digs through one of the pockets of her jumpsuit and pulls out a set of keys, looking at Priest quizzically.

“These?” she asks, although she’s already tossing them over at Priest, who catches it deftly. “Was wonderin’ why I had to take ‘em.”

“Thank you,” Priest says, quickly unlocking the cuffs keeping Norton bound to his chair.

Norton rubs at his wrists as they’re freed, gasping when Priest suddenly pulls him up to his feet by his arms, holding him close as he grabs a hold of his chin and tilts Norton’s head to the side. Norton watches his expression darken out of the corner of his eye as Priest glares down at what must be marks left behind on Norton’s neck by the shock collar from earlier.

“That’s gonna scar,” Priest mutters grimly before letting go of Norton.

“N-nothing new,” Norton manages to say, although the thought of it actually does annoy him. It’s far too visible to hide easily, and he _hates_ that.

Priest smirks at him before he shoots a glare at Adams over Norton’s shoulder.

“You’re fuckin’ lucky the Universe still wants you alive,” he snaps at him.

“You can’t leave,” is all Adams says back, as if saying it often enough will make them stay.

Priest rolls his eyes with an annoyed huff, and moves towards the door, pulling Norton along with him by his arm.

“Did you get the glove, too?” Priest asks Bart as the three of them exit the room.

They’re in a dimly-lit hallway full of steel walls and doors, and Bart leads them down one end that’s decorated by a trail of dead bodies along the floors. Norton’s sidestepping them warily as Bart digs through her pocket again and pulls out the war-machine, waving it at Priest until he takes it from her.

“Don’t know why it’s so great,” Bart says casually. “Kinda ugly, if ya ask me.”

Priest giggles in response, and Norton’s sort of too scared of her to say anything, either. Bart leads them confidently through hallways that look confusingly identical to Norton, until he recognizes that it’s the way towards Blackwing’s hangar. Bart’s pressed the button for the hangar’s doors when alarms suddenly start blaring overhead, at the same time the lights dim further, to be replaced by flashing red lights instead.

“ _Step away from the door_ ,” Adam’s voice resounds over the deafening alarms, carried through what Norton assumes are speakers along the ceiling. “ _Project Marzanna, Project Cain, give yourselves up and no one gets hurt_.”

“He doesn’t seriously think that’s going to work?” Norton says to Priest, looking around them warily. “Does he?”

“He’s kind of stupid,” Priest replies wryly. “Haven’t you noticed?”

The hangar’s doors open, just as a group of Blackwing guards start flooding down the hallway towards them, and Priest pushes Norton through the doorway first as a slew of bullets rain on them. Priest follows close behind him, but Bart’s in no rush at all as she casually strolls after them. Norton’s kind of amazed that not a single bullet lands on her, as she stands in the middle of the doorway without a care in the world and slams the button on their side to close the doors. She jams her scissors into the button once they’re shut completely, and leaves them there.

“ _You are all making a_ big _mistake_ ,” Adams says over the speakers. “ _There’s nothing for you out there._ ”

Priest ushers Norton deeper into the hangar, and then towards a helicopter right at the end of the large space.

“Can you fly?” Norton asks him skeptically when they reach it.

Priest raises a brow at him, like as if it’s the most ridiculous thing he’s heard all day, and Norton purses his lips and rolls his eyes before he climbs into the seats behind the cockpit.

“You’re kinda weird,” Bart tells him as she climbs in after him, and Norton makes a face at her, although he doesn’t dare say anything biting back. “Guess you ain’t all bad if Mr. Priest likes you,” she adds, pausing in front of Norton and giving him a crooked grin before she moves to sit in the cockpit in the co-pilot’s seat.

Priest hears her, giggling, and Norton shoots him a glare as he climbs into the pilot’s seat.

“Hold on,” Priest tells Norton over his shoulder as he pulls on headphones over his ears. “And try not to fall out.”

Norton makes a face at him, and quickly pulls the helicopter’s door closed, making sure it’s firmly shut before he leans over the seats and tells Priest, “If you crash us, I’ll come back to haunt you.”

Priest simply giggles in response. Norton winces when the helicopter’s engine starts and the blades start spinning noisily, and he quickly settles back into his seats and pulls on what looks like the seatbelts there. They’re lifting off painfully slow, in his opinion, and Norton’s alarmed when he realizes that the vehicle exit to the hangar ahead of them is slowly pulling close from the sides.

It’s Adams, surely, and Norton feels his heart starting to race as Priest brings them closer to the quickly-narrowing opening. He’s almost sure they’re not going to make it, and he grips at the edge of his seat tightly, bracing for an actual crash, except, the opening is still wide enough for them to make it through.

Just barely, and Norton exhales deeply as they fly out towards sunlight. He wants to ask Priest where he’s taking them, if he even knows where the Circle is or where they had taken Dirk, but the noise of the helicopter is deafening and he’s sure Priest wouldn’t hear him, anyway.

Away from Adams and Blackwing, Norton’s also suddenly feeling unfathomably tired. The pain in his neck is still throbbing faintly, and he’s just realizing that his wrist is burning faintly, the Mark urging him to take the war-machine and put it back on in the back of his mind. He snaps at it to frankly _shut up_ , and he feels it withdraw irritably, but its presence is still palpable and Norton leans back into his seat and allows his eyes to fall shut.

 _Get Dirk, first_ , Norton tells it firmly. _I’m not opening any damned doors until I know he’s safe._

“Universe keeps him safe,” the Mark replies, and Norton snorts derisively in response.

 _Bugger the Universe_ , he thinks back petulantly. _Now stuff it before I make good on my threat and tear you out of my arm._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hiiii. 
> 
> 1- Yeah, I did _that_. With Assistent. I don't know if anyone noticed. Ingres mentioned him in New York, and it was completely coincidental, except, sort of not? I'm sorry to Assistent fans. I have nothing against the man. The Universe totally made me do it. *nods* And it wasn't mentioned, but he's Project Bel. Also, since Blackwing didn't know and he never explains in the chapter, his power is making ~~really uncomfortable~~ portals and the ability to make people listen to him (if he wanted to) as the word 'bel' can be loosely used as 'Lord', in reference to god or some such higher power. Also, this explains why Blackwing didn't really try very hard to make him reveal his powers or information about himself since he could make people do what he wanted. And for those detail-oriented readers, the reason why he doesn't just force Dirk to join the Circle is because that doesn't work on Dirk. Because ~~I can~~ the Universe protects Dirk.
> 
> 2- Michael also has the hots for Dirk, except, Dirk's taken so, sucks to be Michael.
> 
> 3- Norton is so done, neither of us can _even_
> 
> 4- I really, really hate Jeremiah. Idk what I was thinking when I threw him into this fic, he's such a sleazebag. Norton needs better taste in men. *facepalm*


	17. Bye, Not-Dirk.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Norton makes his choice again, except this time, it goes according to plan. _Sort of_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Violence, drama, ~~Norton is an asshole to Dirk~~ , ~~spoilers~~ major character death, ~~sort of~~ the end, plot twists. _Lots_ of plot twists (maybe).

  

> **Here comes a candle to light you to bed  
> ** **Here comes a chopper to chop off your head  
> ** **(Chip chop,**  
>  **chip chop,**  
>  **…**  
>  **…**  
>  **…**  
>  **the last**  
>  **man's**  
>  **dead)**

 

_Little Norton, little trouble_

_Where did you run off to, boy?_

_Bloody nancy_

_Backs to the wall, eh boys?_

_What’s wrong with you, Norton?_

_You odious little shit_

_Forgive me Father, for I have sinned_

_Norton, love, what’s the hurry?_

_Would you like me to mend the unhappiness in_ your _head?_

_I’ve a city to run_

_You’re not connected to_ anything

_Little trouble, come out to the light where I can see you_

_It consumes life, excretes death; wherever it goes, death follows_

_I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I won’t do it again, I_ swear

 _Use the key, open the door,_ fix the Universe

_Forgive me Father, for I shall continue to sin_

Burn _in hell, boy_

\---

Norton wakes up with a gasp, his heart hammering a hole through his chest and his throat closed up like someone’s got their fingers wrapped tight around it. He startles when hands grab a hold of his arms, and struggles to pull away, to _escape_ , but a familiar voice breaks through the haze of panic in his mind and he freezes, looking up slowly into Priest’s eyes.

“Breathe,” Priest advises calmly, regarding him with a look that Norton can’t completely decipher.

He’s too tired to think about it, too, and Norton looks away to take in their surroundings. To his surprise, they’re in that black place, the Universe’s backroom, and Norton looks quickly back at Priest, panicking once more.

“Why are you here?” he demands, his voice raspy and choked. “Only Dirk’s been here with me, what’s going on?”

“Your guess is as good as mine,” Priest tells him, helping him up to his feet.

Norton’s knees feel weak, but he manages to stay upright, although he’s leaning heavily against Priest for support.

“I’ve got a bad feeling about this,” Norton mutters as he looks around them, searching for signs of anyone else. But there’s no Mark of Cain, and not even Friedkin, and his chest clenches uncomfortably in anticipation.

Exactly _what_ the Mark is anticipating, he’s got no bloody clue.

“Wait, are you sleeping?” Norton asks, looking back at Priest with disbelief.

Priest shrugs. “We got to the mountain,” he says. “Bart said she had to follow us, so I figured I might as well. Ain’t no better backup than her.”

“Why are we back at the mountain?” Norton asks apprehensively. “We’re supposed to find Dirk!”

“I ain’t bringin’ you with me,” Priest snaps back, looking angry now. “You’re in no condition to fight. I was plannin’ on leavin’ you there with Bart while I went after the Circle.”

“ _On your own_?” Norton demands, just as angry as Priest appears to be. “Have you got a death wish? If you’d wanted to die, you could’ve just told me, I’d be _happy_ to put a bullet between your eyes for you!”

“I’m not the one that tried to martyr himself,” Priest snarls back, and his hands rise to clutch at Norton’s shoulders, gripping him tight.

Norton winces, although it’s more from the accusation in Priest’s eyes and voice than from the pain of his hold on Norton.

“You think I’d forgotten that little stunt you tried to pull?” Priest says in a low, grim tone. “You or Svlad, that’s what you asked me. Universe gave you those choices, didn’t it?”

Norton purses his lips, wanting to look away but unable to break the eye contact between them. There’s such a burning fury there behind Priest’s glare, and Norton’s reminded of the monster that this man could be, and his mind goes blank with fear and panic.

“ _Answer_ me, Norton,” Priest growls, shaking him.

“Yes!” Norton says, finally, trembling in Priest’s hold. “Yes, alright, you’re right! Is that what you wanted to hear? I have to open the Door and kill whatever’s behind it, using the war-machine! _That’s_ what your bloody Universe wants! _That’s_ why it brought me to you in the first place!”

Priest frowns deeply, his grip loosening, but he doesn’t let go of Norton.

“What does that have to do with Svlad?” he asks. “What happens if you don’t?”

“Someone else will come along and try it, and Dirk will get hurt in their attempt,” Norton bites out his answer, hating the way his voice quivers as he does. “It’s not a choice, Priest, it’s a _threat_ ,” he adds hopelessly. “I had no right to ask you that, and I’m _sorry_. I won’t- you can rest assured, I _won’t_ let anything happen to Dirk. I _couldn’t_.”

“Self-sacrifice doesn’t suit you,” Priest says, glaring again. “There’s gotta be another way.”

Norton huffs out a bitter laugh, shaking his head, his eyes blurring as tears start to gather unbidden in his eyes. He feels unhinged, out of control, and it’s so foreign that he’s not quite sure what he can do to stop it, to stop feeling so _resigned_. He’s never been a quitter, but then again, he’s never had to deal with omnipresent beings with too much influence in his life, either.

_He almost wishes he’d never disobeyed the Committee in the first place._

“Between you and me, I’m sure you’re far better informed of the fact that the Universe always gets what it wants,” he says aloud, hiding behind a tone of practised scorn. “Isn’t that your job? To make sure that happens?”

Priest clicks his tongue irritably, finally letting go of Norton as he takes a step back from him and runs a hand through his hair, a furious expression settling on his face.

“This doesn’t make sense,” he growls, almost to himself. “It doesn’t work like that.”

“I’m not psychic, Priest,” Norton tells him quietly, watching as the man begins pacing in short, angry strides, back and forth. “I’m collateral. I’m a pawn in a chess match that we’re losing. If I don’t do what the Universe wants, someone else will, and they’ll hurt Dirk doing it.”

“Universe protects Svlad,” Priest snaps in mid-stride, glancing briefly at Norton with scowl before he continues pacing.

“That doesn’t mean it doesn’t _hurt_ him,” Norton retorts, shaking his head. “You would know. You’ve done it yourself, haven’t you?”

Priest stops abruptly, his fists clenching tight by his sides, and Norton almost regrets what he’s said, except, there’s no way to take his words back. He flinches when Priest turns towards him, his eyes dark and grim, but all he does is wrap his arms around Norton’s shoulders and pulls him close. Norton lets him, stiffly accepting the embrace with no small amount of wariness and uncertainty.

“I don’t want to die,” Norton confesses mutedly into Priest’s neck, swallowing back a sob. “I ran here to avoid exactly that, I- everything’s gone tits up, haven’t they?”

“Everythin’s connected,” he hears Priest mutter into his hair. “We’re missin’ somethin’, somethin’ Svlad might know. We need to find him.”

“There _is_ another way.”

Norton jumps as the Mark’s voice resounds suddenly throughout the air around them, and when he turns, it’s there, standing a few feet away and watching Norton and Priest with careful, calculating eyes.

“Another ex, Norton?” Priest asks wryly, and Norton elbows him in the side, shooting him an annoyed look.

“That’s the bloody Mark of Cain,” Norton mutters darkly.

“I’m your namesake,” the Mark tells Priest with an amused smile. “Project Cain, the prodigal son.”

“Some asshole said the same thing a while ago,” Priest remarks casually, but Norton can hear the steely tone under his words and tenses up as he looks between the two men warily. “Didn’t get the chance to ask what he meant.”

“Universe loves you, you know that, right?” the Mark says, his smile becoming earnest. “You listen to it without fail, do everything it asks without hesitation. You’re its favourite.”

“I thought Svlad was the favourite,” Priest replies dryly.

“Dirk’s its favourite _baby_ ,” the Mark says with a huff. “He’s the one the Universe uses to make up for all the bad things that it has to let happen. But you? You _are_ the bad things that have to happen, Priest. You’re the one with the thankless job, and you’re _so good_ at it, too.”

“Flattery’s gonna get you anywhere,” Priest tells him, smirking. “Now get to the point. You said there’s another way?”

The Mark smiles again, glancing at Norton. “I’m not supposed to tell you,” he says in a low, secretive tone. “On account of the Universe liking you so much, that is. But it’s not a coincidence that Blackwing called you Project Cain. Or that the artefact’s called the Mark of Cain.”

Norton frowns at him, not quite sure what he’s getting at. But Priest seems to be catching on, because he starts giggling suddenly, as if he’s just been told the funniest thing in the world, and when Norton looks at him apprehensively, he’s shaking his head and wiping away invisible tears from his eyes.

“All this fuckin’ trouble,” Norton hears him say between giggles.

“What?” Norton demands, looking over at the Mark when Priest doesn’t answer him. “What do you mean? How’s Priest connected to you?”

“Priest’s dampening abilities can remove me from you without killing you, Norton,” the Mark says, and Norton’s eyes widen in disbelief. “He doesn’t need the sex, either, but I’m pretty sure the two of you would do it, anyway.”

“Wait, wait,” Norton says, shaking his head, trying to understand what the Mark is saying. “You- you don’t mean that I can get rid you?”

“Exactly that,” the Mark affirms, nodding. “Priest can have me, or, rather, he can have you and take me away from you.”

“But the Door,” Norton starts, and the Mark cuts him off with a shrug and a careless, “Priest can use the war-machine to kill the monster, too.”

It sounds too good to be true, even though Norton wants desperately to take this chance, but he can’t shake off the feeling that it’s not _right_. There’s something else the Mark isn’t telling them, he’s _sure_ of it, and he glares at the Mark suspiciously.

“What’s the _catch_?” Norton demands. “What happens if Priest uses the war-machine and kills your bloody monster?”

The Mark looks away, to the side, and scratches at his chin, making a face at the same time.

“Weeeell,” he starts slowly, dragging the word long and stallingly, and Norton snaps, “ _What_ ,” in an impatient tone that elicits a wince from the Mark.

“Well, there’s a _high_ possibility that he might not be able to sustain the war-machine for long and dies afterwards with me via disintegration,” the Mark admits, almost guiltily. “The pressure of dampening my effects would be too much for him on top of piloting the war-machine, which is a pain in the ass by itself. But hey, it’s you or him, right?”

“What do you mean, _die_?” Norton nearly shouts. “How is that any better than _me_ using it? At least _my_ body would survive!”

“Which is why I wasn’t supposed to tell you this,” the Mark says defensively. “You think the Universe would risk letting its favourite kid die? Why do you think it got _you_ instead?”

“Then fuck you!” Norton tells him viciously. “You- what kind of a sick bastard are you, giving people false hope?”

“Norton,” Priest says suddenly, reaching out a hand to touch Norton’s arm, but Norton jerks away from him bodily like he’d just been burnt, glaring at Priest.

“ _No_ ,” he snarls. “Not a chance in _hell_. If you think, for even one second, that I would let _you_ die, that I would rather live by putting _Dirk_ through that pain again- if you believe that for even one bloody moment, Priest, well then _fuck you, too_!”

“ _Norton_ ,” Priest repeats sharply, eyes narrowing on him.

Norton takes several steps away from him, glaring right back, his breathing coming in short and fast as anger and that ever-present drag of resignation blooms quickly through his gut, making his throat close up with the intensity of the feelings.

“It’s _my_ choice to make,” he grits out. “I may be _many_ things, _Mr._ Priest, but I am not _cruel_. I’m not _you_. I’ve- I’ve killed someone I loved before, _once_. I can’t- it’s not something I _ever_ want to have to do again.”

The ground rumbles under their feet as the last of Norton’s confession leaves his lips, and he lets out a relieved sigh.

“Shit,” the Mark says. “Universe caught up.” He looks between Norton and Priest apologetically. “What happens after this is up to you, boys. Universe won’t be happy if Priest died, but it won’t stop you, Norton, not if you make that choice.”

Norton scoffs, shaking his head, but he doesn’t have anything else to say to the Mark. He’s _made_ his choice, he knows it, and Priest won’t die on his watch.

He wants to laugh, almost, at the thought; at the undeniable knowledge that he really is willing to sacrifice himself to save these two idiots that he’s come to care about far too much for reasons he can’t even fathom himself.

If you’d asked him, mere months ago, what he would’ve thought, of willingly putting himself in harm’s way for _someone else_ , Norton _would’ve_ laughed. He would’ve laughed and kindly told you to bugger yourself before finding a way to make your life a living hell.

But Norton’s not Norton anymore.

He hasn’t _been_ Norton since the moment he’d driven a knife through the heart of the Mark’s last host and taken it for himself. The Mark had _branded_ him, whether he’d known it or not. The _Universe_ had branded him, and Norton’s not _sure_ whether caring about Dirk and Priest had been part of the plan, but he has to admit; it’s something he might’ve cooked up himself, if the tables had been turned.

There’s nothing more satisfying to watch than making someone do something they thought they’d wanted to do, when it had been, in fact, something _you’d_ wanted them to.

_It’s not cruelty if the only one suffering is the one that deserves it._

The ground rumbles again, more violently than before, and Norton closes his eyes to avoid the angry look that Priest is giving him.

“Hold on,” he tells Priest with a wry smile, just as he’s being sucked down through the floor and falls.

\---

Norton sits up as his eyes fly open, gasping for breath.

“Hey, you okay?” he hears Bart’s voice, so close that he jumps away instinctively, knocking his head against the side of the helicopter where he’d been apparently sleeping in.

Bart looks at him with confusion from where she’s kneeling on top of the seat next to his.

“You look like you seen a ghost,” she observes, tilting her head.

Norton shakes his head, inhaling deeply and looking around. He sees the back of Priest’s head in the captain’s seat, still asleep - or, unconscious, at least. Beyond the windows of the helicopter, Norton can make out the walls of a cave, and the Door standing some distance from them. They’re back in that cavern, which makes sense since the ceiling’s gone thanks to Blackwing, making a convenient entrance for a helicopter.

Norton’s arm warms up, then, and he closes his eyes, grabbing his wrist with his other hand.

“Now or never,” the Mark tells him, and Norton frowns.

 _We get Dirk first_ , he thinks back at it, and Norton feels a wave of amused smugness as the Mark replies, “He’s already on his way. I told you; Universe keeps him safe.”

Norton’s not sure he believes that, but a series of images flows through his mind in rapid succession, and Norton flinches, just barely able to make out a girl with black hair in a white dress, Ingres disfiguring and morphing into a giant cobra, a man with a long face and earnest, sad-looking eyes, and then the girl in the white dress turning into a helicopter.

His head is throbbing by the time the Mark stops, and he inhales sharply as he clutches at it, his eyes snapping open to stare with bleary eyes at the back of Priest’s seat.

“Sorry,” the Mark says, not sounding sorry at all. “Thought you’d gotten used to it by now.”

“Bugger off,” Norton mutters aloud in response, rubbing at his head.

“What?” Bart asks next to him.

Norton shakes his head, almost having forgotten that she’d been there the whole time.

 _Dirk is safe_? he thinks. “Safer than you, at least,” is the Mark’s easy reply, and Norton breathes in deeply.

 _Now or never, then_ , he thinks, more to himself than the Mark, but he feels a warmth of approval burst in his chest.

Norton looks over at Bart, who’s still staring at him intently with clear confusion, and Norton forces a smile on his face.

“Be a dear and get the glove from Mr. Priest for me, would you?” he asks Bart politely as he pulls the helicopter’s door open.

“Where’re ya goin’?” Bart asks, sounding even more confused.

Norton jumps out of the helicopter and looks over at the direction the Door is in, not answering her question.

“Mr. Priest said you’re s’posed to wait here,” Bart tells him.

Norton turns and looks over at her. “Listen, _Bart_ ,” Norton starts, her name rolling off his tongue awkwardly. “You know Dirk, yes?”

“Yeah?” Bart says with uncertainty.

“Are you friends?” Norton asks.

Bart beams at that. “Yeah- yeah, we’re practically best friends!” she says proudly.

Norton gives her a small smile, her child-like conviction eliciting that same urge to shield her from the world that Dirk’s vulnerability had in Norton, despite having seen what she’s capable of back in Blackwing. It makes Norton feel guilty about what he’s about to ask her to do.

“Well, he’s in a spot of trouble, poppet,” Norton tells her. “And I need to help him. Except, Mr. Priest sort of doesn’t want me to.”

“Dirk needs help?” Bart asks, her smile dropping to be replaced by a frown.

“Yes, love,” Norton says. “I need that glove you gave to Mr. Priest so that I can help him.”

Bart nods, then, and pushes off her seat to climb over to the cockpit, where Norton’s view of her is obscured. She’s quick, however, and soon she’s back in the passenger seats, where she leans out from the door with one hand clutching onto the frame and the other held out towards Norton, the war-machine between her fingers.

Norton takes the war-machine gingerly, giving her a wide, pleased smile.

“Thank you, love,” he says.

Bart shrugs, pouting a little as she says, “Still don’t know what’s so great ‘bout it.”

“It’s a useful little trinket, that’s all,” Norton tells her. “I need you to do one more favour for me, Bart. Could you, please?”

Bart shrugs again. “Sure, Not-Dirk,” she says easily.

Norton smiles again at the name she’s given him. “I need you to keep Mr. Priest busy for as long as you can,” he says in a hushed tone, glancing over at the captain’s seat. “He’s going to be a bit grumpy when he wakes up, and I can’t be keeping him calm when I’ve got to be helping Dirk. You understand, don’t you?”

“Sure,” Bart says, nodding before her eyes narrow and she looks at Norton a little suspiciously. “You’re not gonna do somethin’ stupid, are ya?” she asks warily.

Her question shocks a laugh out of Norton. “Goodness, _no_ ,” he tells her between chuckles. “It’s Mr. Priest that’s going to do something stupid, sweetheart, which is why I need your help to keep him safe.”

“I can do that,” Bart says, smiling now. She adds in a quiet, amused tone, “It’s a pretty easy job since he’s kinda hard to kill.”

Norton smiles at that, swallowing back another laugh. “Thank you, Bart,” he tells her sincerely.

Bart ducks her head, seemingly embarrassed, and drops back onto the passenger seats.

“Bye, Not-Dirk,” she says with a small wave.

Norton waves back at her, and with one final, pained glance at Priest, Norton turns around and starts towards the Door on the other side of the cavern. The ground around it is littered with debris from Blackwing’s entrance before, but the stone arch and the Door itself appears to not have been touched at all, as if something had shielded it from any damage.

Blackwing had changed him into a plain white t-shirt and grey pants before they’d started torturing him, and Norton tears the t-shirt’s left sleeve off and starts unwrapping the bandages along his arm. He winces as the abrasions Blackwing had made on his skin are irritated and sting as they’re exposed to the air, but it’s not as painful as before and he throws the last of the gauze to the side before he carefully pulls the war-machine over his hand.

He hates it, but it feels a little like coming back home to a warm hearth as the war-machine fits itself over his arm like it belongs there. The pain from his arm is gone, replaced by a pleasant tingling sensation on his skin that reminds Norton of his first taste of morphine. It seeps deep, down into his bones, and Norton exhales slowly as the Mark’s presence strengthens in his mind, their consciousness melding into one.

“ **Don’t let it touch you** ,” the Mark says, and Norton’s almost - but not quite - surprised that his own lips are moving as he speaks those words aloud in a distorted voice that’s not quite his, but not quite the Mark’s, either. “ **It consumes everything it touches, and then you’re dead**.”

“What kind of a monster is it?” Norton asks warily as he steps closer to the Door and reaches his hand out towards the lock.

“ **Did you know H. P. Lovecraft was psychic**?” the Mark asks in response.

“ _No_ ,” Norton says, pausing with genuine shock. “You’re _kidding_?”

 

“ **Nope** ,” the Mark replies, sounding amused. “ **He was a retrograde clairvoyant; visions of past events. He saw it in his dreams, but he thought they weren’t real. He called this particular monster ‘Cthulhu**.”

“Unbelievable,” Norton mutters, shaking his head with a sigh.

“ **It doesn’t have an actual name** ,” the Mark adds. “ **No one knows what it is, or where it came from, and calling it evil is primitive by universal standards** ”

“What does _that_ mean?” Norton asks skeptically. He’s got his hand slotted into the keyhole, but he won’t unlock the Door until he’s sure what he’s going to be facing against.

“ **The Universe calls it a reset button** ,” the Mark says. “ **Something beyond even the Universe can control. It’s naturally occurring, apparently. The way the Universe explained it, Cthulhu sees life as an infection, and it came here to cleanse the earth of that infection**.”

“Can’t say I’m inclined to disagree,” Norton mutters wryly.

“ **Yeah, me neither** ,” the Mark agrees. “ **This is all news to me, too, you know. I didn’t know all this back when I locked it behind this Door. Universe seems to like talking to dead people more than the living**.”

“How quaint,” Norton snorts. “Well, if I can’t touch it, how do I kill it?”

“ **I don’t know**?” the Mark says with uncertainty, and Norton makes a sound of indignant disbelief. “ **No, seriously, it’s not like I ever killed it myself! The Mark and the war-machine should know. I guess just point and hope for the best**?”

Norton rolls his eyes irritably at the unhelpful advice, but there’s a loud scream of his name from behind him before he can argue with the Mark.

“ _NORTON_!”

Startled, Norton jerks away from the Door and turns around, eyes widening when he sees Dirk flying towards him, literally.

Abaddon’s holding onto his shoulders and swooping low across the cavern, headed right for Norton, and Norton throws his arms out reflexively as Abaddon lets go of Dirk when they’re close enough. Dirk flails through the short distance between the air and Norton’s arms, and lands with a loud gasp in them. Except, Norton doesn’t have the upper body strength to catch him properly, and Dirk’s weight sends them both toppling over onto the ground in a heap.

“ _Ow_!” Norton yelps when Dirk’s elbow jabs him in the chin as the other man continues to flail over him.

“Sorry, sorry!” Dirk cries out.

It takes a while, but they eventually manage to untangle themselves until they’re both on their knees, and Dirk throws his arms around Norton and hugs him tightly.

“I’m not too late!” he says as he pulls away, looking Norton over with a relieved look on his face. “I’m so glad you’re alright!”

“Dirk,” Norton says softly, looking into Dirk’s teary eyes.

“Norton, you can’t use the war-machine,” Dirk says quickly, his gaze darting over to Norton’s left arm before back to Norton’s face. “I won’t allow it! It’s not- it’s not _practical_ , utilizing a weapon that permanently damages its user!”

“It’s the most powerful weapon in the world, Dirk,” Norton tells him quietly. “I’m certain the reason it damages its user is because no one person should ever be allowed to indefinitely have something that dangerous in their possession.”

“Which is exactly why you shouldn’t use it!” Dirk argues, shaking his head desperately. “Norton, _please_ , there _has_ to be another way!”

Norton’s heart twinges at the pain in Dirk’s voice, the anguish that’s evident in the minute tremble of his hands on Norton’s shoulders. Norton reaches up with his right hand and places it gently over Dirk’s, stilling it.

“There isn’t one,” Norton lies carefully. “You heard what the Mark said, Dirk; open the Door, or don’t. I have to do this. You know I do.”

Dirk shakes his head, his lips quivering as the tears in his eyes start spilling over, streaming down his cheeks in fat little drops.

“You’re lying,” Dirk bites out accusingly. “You’re _lying_ , there _has_ to be another way, I _know_ there is, I just need to find it! I can find it, it’s what I do, isn’t it? I can find the connection!”

Norton moves his hand away from Dirk’s and cups at his cheek instead, wiping a tear away with his thumb as he looks into Dirk’s stricken gaze.

“I _am_ the connection, Dirk,” he tells Dirk gently. “You know that. The Universe gave me the Mark, gave me the war-machine, gave me _you_. Everything that’s happened; we both know it was all leading up to _this_.”

“ _No_ ,” Dirk protests in a sob, shaking his head.

Norton holds him still, leaning forward until their foreheads are resting against each other, and Dirk starts crying earnestly.

“You don’t love me, Dirk,” Norton tells him, and he’s not sure whether the lie is for his own benefit or Dirk’s. “You’ve no idea what I’ve done, where I come from. I’m just as awful as Blackwing.”

“Don’t _say_ that, that’s not _true_ ,” Dirk sobs helplessly.

“It _is_ ,” Norton cuts him off firmly. “I’m every bit as vile as the monsters that hurt you, Dirk. I’m not- there is very little I’ve done that I genuinely regret.” He lets out a sigh, planting a brief kiss on Dirk’s nose before he pulls away and says, “Meeting you is one of them.”

Dirk’s expression shatters, there’s no other way for Norton to describe it. Norton tries not to let it affect him, ignoring the crippling stab of pain running through his chest as his heart breaks along with Dirk’s.

“I was only using you, you know,” he says, rising to his feet, his eyes not leaving Dirk’s. “You and Priest both. When I landed in Blackwing, I had nothing. My dislocater was broken, I hadn’t brought anything else with me from the past. I was _lucky_ that I look like you; it made seducing Priest so much easier.”

“Stop it,” Dirk breathes, shaking his head, covering his ears with his hands as he squeezes his eyes shut. “You’re lying, none of that’s true!”

“You were so easy,” Norton carries on, chuckling dryly. “Desperate for even a grain of positive attention, from anyone at all. It was pathetic.”

Dirk keens in the back of his throat, curling into himself, and Norton takes a step back from him.

“I have to admit, the sex _was_ good,” Norton says. “But that didn’t make up for the bizarre things that keep happening with you. You’re a magnet for ridiculousness, Dirk; it’s _exhausting_. Keeping up the act of caring about you and dealing with all your other holistic psychos? I might as well be a bloody saint, you fell for every single word, didn’t you?”

“Stop it,” Dirk says weakly between his sobs, his voice so quiet that Norton can barely hear him. “Stop it, stop it…”

“Oh, grow up, Dirk,” Norton sneers at him. “That never worked when you were a child, what makes you think it’ll work this time? Face it, Dirk; I _despise_ you. You’re weak, pathetic and insane. Only Priest could ever want a-”

Norton’s cut off by the war-machine’s defense mechanism activating as something ricochets off of it, and Norton jerks backwards, looking over to where whatever had hit him had come from. His eyes widen when he sees Priest is striding towards them, his fury so palpable that Norton can practically see it coming off of him in waves, his gun raised in front of him and aimed at Norton’s head.

“ **We should go** ,” the Mark says, almost nervously.

Norton manages to tear his eyes away from Priest and glances down at Dirk, seeing him still on the ground and muttering softly to himself, curled into a fetal position on his knees. Norton feels bile rising up the back of his throat at what he’d done to the other man, but he swallows it down - along with the regret and the pain - and rushes towards the Door, hoping that Priest would have the sense to look after Dirk instead of coming after him, at least until he’s done with Cthulhu, or whatever the monster’s name is.

Priest is still shooting at him, though, that much he knows for certain, because the war-machine’s shields keep flashing around him, and Norton winces as he slots his hand back into the Door’s lock.

“Norton!” he hears Priest shout angrily, but Norton’s not going to let that distract him a second time.

He turns his hand and feels the Door humming around it, and the keyhole glows faintly gold before the light spreads out of it across the surface of the Door in intricate lines. Norton squints against the brightness, but before his sight can adjust, the Door pulls backwards, tugging Norton along with it, and he gasps when he’s sucked into utter darkness.

“ **Hold on**!” he barely hears the Mark telling him, and Norton squeezes his eyes shut, bracing himself for some sort of impact.

He doesn’t land on anything.

But he feels like he’s stopped moving, and when he opens his eyes slowly, he’s standing in the middle of a field of brown grass, surrounded by rolling hills that spread far into the horizon. There’s an orange sun flanked by clouds in a sky that’s a mix of violet and pink, and Norton smells a faint aroma of ashes burning in the air. There’s nothing else in sight except for the Door beside him, which is once more closed.

“ **I thought you told Priest you weren’t _cruel_** ,” the Mark says mutedly.

Norton frowns, jaw clenching as he bites out, “It was _necessary_ ,” before looking around them for any signs of a monster. “Is this the pocket dimension?” he asks.

“ **It is** ,” the Mark answers in a grim tone. “ **But it looks different...** ”

“You’ve opened the Door…”

There’s a growling, threatening voice in the air, the sound of which sends shivers running down Norton’s spine, and he spins around, searching for the source of it. He sees nothing, much to his apprehension, and he raises the war-machine in front of him defensively.

“Where are you?” Norton demands. “Show yourself!”

There’s a low rumble of a chuckle, as if Norton’s just told the voice a terribly funny joke.

“Are you the knight, come to slay me? A champion of his kind?”

A gust of hot air blows past, sending strands of Norton’s hair flying into his face, and he brushes them out of his eyes with his other hand quickly, not wanting to have his vision obstructed for even a moment.

“Or a sacrifice sent to appease the angry god?”

The ground under Norton’s feet start shaking, and Norton shrieks when it splits open suddenly, scrambling and jumping out of the way. The split spreads after him, and Norton keeps stumbling, until he trips and rolls forward over his head for several metres. When he finally stops, he pushes himself up to his elbows and looks up, gaping when he sees a giant lump of pitch-black _nothingness_ climbing out of the crack in the earth, the outline of what seems to be tentacles squirming all around it. It’s terrifying not because it’s as hideous as Norton had imagined it to be, but because it doesn’t _have_ any features at all.

It’s so dark that light seems to not even touch it, and Norton feels dread pooling in his gut as the thing pulls itself out of the ground completely, and it’s roughly the size of a small planet.

“You will free me...”

One of the monster’s tentacles shoots out suddenly in Norton’s direction, and Norton just about manages to roll out of its way. It retracts back towards the monster, but another one shoots out on its other side, and Norton rolls again before he scrambles to his feet.

“ **Activate the machine**!” the Mark says urgently.

“ _How_?” Norton asks, gasping when another tentacle whips towards his head. He ducks and parries it with the war-machine, and turns to run in the opposite direction.

“ **It’s going to kill you**!” the Mark yells. “ **You have to let the machine work**!”

“You have to tell me _how_!” Norton yells back in frustration as he runs. “I’ve never done this before, in case you haven’t noticed!”

Norton’s unsure whether the annoyance in his chest is the Mark’s or his own, but he doesn’t have much time to ponder on it; the ground under him shakes violently, and he trips as he loses his footing, falling flat onto the dry, flaky grass beneath him. He scrambles to turn over, but before he can get back up, a tentacle looms over him, and Norton flinches as it swings down onto him. He blocks it with his left arm, but it’s strong and heavy, and he’s locked in place, unable to push it away or move anywhere.

“ **Norton** ,” the Mark hisses.

“Tell me what to bloody _do_!” Norton shouts back in reply, grunting when the tentacle presses harder and Norton feels himself sinking into the ground under him with the increasing pressure.

He’s too preoccupied with the tentacle that he doesn’t realize there’s another flying at him from the side, and the last thing he hears before the black appendage blinds him is the Mark screaming his name in alarm.

\--- 

> **Chip**  
>  **chop,**  
>  **chip**  
>  **chop,**

_Little Norton, little trouble_

  

> **Chip**  
>  **chop,**  
>  **chip**  
>  **chop,**

_Forgive me Father, for I have sinned_

  

> **Chip**  
>  **chop,**  
>  **chip**  
>  **chop,**

_Why are you lying?_

  

> **Chip**  
>  **chop,**

_You’ll always be my little darling boy, Norton_

  

> **Chip**  
>  **chop,**

_You’ll always-_

  

> **Chip**

_Always-_

  

> **chop,**

_Always be-_

  

> **...**
> 
> **...**
> 
> **...**
> 
> **the last**

_Nort-_

  

> **man's**

_Norton-!_

  

> **dead.**

 

“ _ **Norton**_!”

Norton blinks awake and he’s blinded by the shimmering glow of _millions_ of stars, glittering brightly against the black background of vast, empty space.

At first, he thinks that he’s back in that weird Universe room. Except, none of the stars are blue, and he’s not so much standing on a black floor as he is _floating_ in the middle of everything.

He’s _literally_ in space, and the realization hits him like a tonne of bricks. His hands fly up to grasp at his throat immediately, but he feels stupid afterwards, because he’s breathing perfectly fine despite where he is.

“ **We’re inside Cthulhu** ,” the Mark informs him helpfully.

“We’re _what_?” Norton gasps, eyes widening.

“ **When it touched you, we got sucked into it** ,” the Mark explains. “ **I guess- this is where everything it consumes ends up**?”

“Cthulhu _itself_ is a bloody _universe_?” Norton says incredulously, feeling a familiar headache coming on at this newfound piece of unbelievable information.

“ **No idea** ,” the Mark answers. “ **It’s not like anyone it ate ever came back to tell us about it, but considering what just happened, I’m almost sure it’s a yes to that**.”

“Well, what do I do now?” Norton asks, looking around at the stars, at the nothingness. “Am I- what if I’m already dead and this is hell?”

“ **That’s a- that’s also a possibility** ,” the Marks admits, sounding as disturbed as Norton feels. “ **I can’t sense the Universe anymore…** ”

“That’s bad, isn’t it?”

“ **Not _good_ , that’s for sure**.”

“I think I might be sick,” Norton confesses, his throat constricting.

”Poor little key-bearer.”

Norton stumbles on nothing in the air, jerking around to find someone else floating with him, someone familiar.

“ _Cerce_?” he gasps. “Wha-what’re you doing here?”

Cerce shrugs, and blinks, and Norton realizes that it’s _not_ them at all, as their irises dilate and their pupils contract, their eyeballs turning into bulging blue marbles that stare lifelessly right into Norton’s soul.

“This is a form you are familiar with,” they say sagely. “I have no face, no name, no life.”

Norton stares at the monster warily, swallowing the lump that’s formed in his throat.

“What do you want from me?” he asks.

The monster laughs, and its face, its whole body changes, melting and reshaping languidly until it’s Dirk, and Norton’s breath catches in his throat at the sight.

“T’was you that searched for me, mortal,” it says in a wry tone.

“But since you ask; I wish to be freed.”

“The Universe wants you dead,” Norton tells it, pursing his lips. “You kill people.”

The monster laughs again, changing once more, and this time, it chooses a woman, thin and tall, with wheat-gold hair that falls in ringlets down to her chest, and a full-lipped smile that’s identical to Norton’s. It’s almost as bad as the thing using Dirk’s face, except maybe a little worse, because even half a century later, Norton’s eyes still water at the sight of her.

“Humans feel so much, despite living so little,” the monster says, head tilted to the side.

“Feelings are deadly, like decay. It devours and it kills. I stop that from spreading.”

It pauses, eyeing Norton thoughtfully.

“I do not kill,” it says slowly, as if it’s explaining something complex to a child.

“I _consume_. To a mortal, it may seem like death.

To creatures like myself, it is simply rebirth.”

“ **It’s unwanted** ,” the Mark growls in reply, and Norton feels anger that isn’t his own. “ **No one asked you to come here, no one asked for your _rebirth_**.”

“I go where I am needed,” the monster says.

“I do not expect you to understand.”

“Then why didn’t you _consume_ me?” Norton asks before the Mark could say anything else in his growing fury. “Why am I still here, speaking with you?”

“You are the key-bearer and I wish to be freed,” the monster answers simply.

“I see in your heart, mortal. You doom yourself if you kill me.

You do not wish to be doomed.”

“I haven’t got a choice,” Norton says bitterly. “Or can’t you see that much?”

“There is always a choice,” the monster replies.

“The very foundation of humanity is hinged upon this fact.”

“Well, I don’t like any of the ones I’ve got,” Norton snaps irritably.

“ **Activate the machine** ,” the Mark says.

“I cannot consume you while you have the key,” the monster says.

“Free me or kill me. I am at your mercy here.”

Norton stares at it, surprised at its confession. The monster notices, and laughs again.

“I have been trapped here for centuries,” the monster says dryly.

“I have no purpose here. My existence is, to put simply, _unnecessary_.

Unlike you, _I_ do not have a choice. If my fate is to die, then so be it.”

“Why don’t you kill yourself, then?” Norton asks, hoping for an alternative where he doesn’t have to use the war-machine.

“That is against my nature,” the monster answers, shrugging its shoulders.

Norton makes a frustrated sound, running a hand through his hair.

“ **Just kill it, Norton** ,” the Mark says angrily.

“Shut up,” Norton snaps back. “Unless you’re going to activate it yourself, then be a dear and _keep quiet_.”

The Mark bristles at the admonishment, but Norton ignores it, looking back at the monster again.

“If I kill you, what happens, then?” Norton asks, narrowing his eyes at it.

“I do not know,” the monster answers.

“I will go where all my kind go after they’ve fulfilled their purpose.

But your fate is unknown to me.”

Norton purses his lips, glaring at it. It’s hardly the answer he’s looking for, but the monster doesn’t offer anything else, simply staring back at him emotionlessly with its bulging eyes.

He won’t free it, that’s for certain, but without the threat of the Circle or the Committee - or even Blackwing - breathing down his neck, Norton’s got all the time in the world to consider his next action. He could still _leave_ , but what then?

With the Mark and the war-machine, back in their own world, someone else would still come along to try and free this monster. Dirk would still be in danger, and Norton would have to keep running. And after what he’d done to Dirk-

_Everything always goes back to Dirk._

Closing his eyes, Norton lets out a long, tired breath and raises his arm, pointing the war-machine at the monster.

“It’s nothing personal, sweetheart,” he says bitterly, opening his eyes.

The monster tilts its head, its lips lifting in a small, resigned smile.

“Goodbye, Norton Folgate,” it says simply.

The war-machine hums quietly as a faded, amber glow forms around it, first between Norton’s fingers, and then quickly spreading upwards until his whole arm is encompassed in the light. A million and one voices resound in Norton’s mind - one he can clearly make out is the Mark, or the Holistic Thief that’s been keeping him company - and Norton feels himself suffocating in the sea of ghosts.

He feels detached from his own body, like it’s not his own anymore, and it’s not long until he’s no longer himself.

He is Aimwell - Stuart - Monica - Beatrice - Sebastian - Yvonne - Thomas - Charlie - Kiefer - Leandra - David - Syahid -

He is father - apprentice - governess - professor - doctor - beggar - captain - thief - daughter - student - detective -

 _murderer_.

He is everyone and no _one_ at the same time, and he doesn’t _care_.

There is no power in a singular entity, and he realizes - as the war-machine searches for its intended target - that the more souls occupy it, the more hosts it’s been in, the _stronger_ it becomes.

Its constant jump from person to person isn’t just a survival instinct, but a base impulse for _power_. The war-machine _hungers_ for it, driven by the need like an all-consuming addiction. It’s _terrifying_ and _exhilarating_ at the same time, and it’s been _so long_ since it’s been used, since all that power and destruction had last been unleashed, and he _suffocates_ in it.

He doesn’t even realize it when the monster is destroyed, burnt by a beam of the amber light of the machine that shoots out from the palm of his hand. The monster doesn’t even make a sound, dispersing into the darkness around them like dust, and he finds himself falling down to his knees in the brown fields.

 _Kill kill kill_ , demand the voices - and his own is among them - and it’s disorienting. There’s nothing left _to_ destroy. The machine knows it, can taste the barrenness of the lands around them, and the voices screech in anger at this discovery.

He stands up on unsteady feet, and sees the Door. The machine knows what’s behind it; _life_.

He moves towards it without thinking, but something’s _wrong_. He doesn’t remember _what_ , but there’s a strong niggling in the back of his mind, a tiny sliver of doubt amidst the voices clamouring for blood.

_He mustn't open the Door._

He staggers as he forces the voices down, keening as they scream angrily at his disobedience. The machine clenches over his arm, raising it without his permission, and he clutches at it with his other hand.

“ _No_ ,” he struggles to say, his voice ragged and distorted.

 _Kill, let us out, let us destroy_ , the voices shout, but he shakes his head, using all the strength he can muster to point the machine downwards and towards his right leg. It’s numbingly painful, defying the machine and the ghosts, but he braves through it, through them, willing the machine to fire.

There’s no amber beam, but _something_ comes out of it, something he can’t see, and the bone under the flesh of his thigh breaks, and he screams as the pain that accompanies the damage becomes overwhelming. He falls forward onto the ground, still whimpering pathetically.

It hurts something awful, but the physical pain had been enough to remind him of who he is - to tear the individual part of him from the rest of the collective - and Norton closes his eyes against the pain as he forces himself off the ground and rolls over onto his back.

“I know you,” he says up to the sky through gritted teeth. “I know what you can do.”

 _We are you_ , the voices reply in kind, harsh and aggressive. _Kill kill kill_.

Norton huffs out a sardonic laugh. He’s tired and his whole body throbs with pain, and his head feels like it’s about to explode. It’s not what he’d expected when he’d resigned himself to activating the war-machine, but he’s nothing if not adaptable.

“You want to kill?” he scoffs breathlessly.

He forces the war-machine up, resting it under his chin and closing his eyes, wincing as the voices rapidly increase in volume as the ghosts realize what he’s about to do.

 _Kill yourself _,__ he thinks vindictively before he takes the shot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hiiii.
> 
> Yeaaaaaaaa.
> 
> It happened.
> 
> I did that.
> 
> I am sorry.
> 
> Or not.
> 
> Read the last chapter before you decide if I deserve to be shot or not. :X
> 
> 1- The rhyming 'quotes' are from a nursery rhyme called Oranges and Lemons. Since Norton's father was a vicar, I would assume he would be very familiar with it, as the full version is actually about the bells of several churches (in England). One, in particular, is in Norton Folgate. No, not in _Norton_ , but the place Norton Folgate. Yeah, I found that hilarious. Sorry? The quoted lines of the rhyme in this chapter are a creepy ending that's not in every sung version, and they freaked me out as a child - figured it was fitting with the ambience of the chapter. Also, some of the lines that are in _Italics_ while Norton's unconscious are actually direct quotes from Torchwood audio dramas with Norton in them (mostly Goodbye, Piccadilly, but I can't remember if any are from Ghost Mission, Outbreak or Torchwood Archive; I am too tired to check, sorry again).
> 
> 2- I have no evidence to back up whether H. P. Lovecraft was psychic or not, but imagine if he were. _Yeeeeah_. That. Huh. ~~The Old Gods live~~.


	18. No stone unturned.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Epilogue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: SURPRISES.

**6 Months Later**

\---

“Dirk, hurry up, we’re gonna miss the train!” Dirk hears Todd’s muffled, irritated yell from down the stairs, ever the drama queen.

Dirk rolls his eyes and grabs his jacket off his bed, pulling it on clumsily as he stumbles out of the room. Todd’s glaring at the foot of the first floor landing, but Dirk pays him no mind, heading for the front door.

“Well, come along, then, Todd, or we’ll be late,” Dirk calls over his shoulder as he exits the agency.

He grins to himself when he hears Todd’s scandalized shout before the door closes behind him, and Dirk skips down the building’s stoop and to the non-descript, silver sedan that’s parked out front. Farah had picked it out, of course, because according to her, sports cars were ‘conspicuous’, despite Dirk arguing that they were far more efficient since they were _faster_.

He’s about to get into the driver’s seat when Todd runs out of the agency, hefting a duffel bag over one shoulder.

“No way, I’m not having a Dirk-induced attack this early in the morning,” he protests as he throws the duffel into the back seats and glares at Dirk over the roof of the car.

Dirk gives him an offended look. “But I want to drive,” he whines.

“You drove last time, Dirk, it’s my turn, anyway,” Todd argues.

Dirk pouts, but Todd is adamant, and he eventually goes round the front of the car and gets into the passenger seat with a sulking pout.

“You’re still a terrible assistant,” he sniffs as Todd slips into the driver’s seat.

Dirk pretends to not see Todd’s hands pausing at his words as Todd pulls on his seatbelt, and Dirk turns on the radio instead, making sure to keep it at a socially-acceptable volume like Todd would always insist. Todd doesn’t say anything, simply grunting noncommittally as he starts the car, and Dirk crosses his arms over his chest and looks out the window, feeling a sense of growing frustration.

That had been the part where Todd was supposed to say ‘I’m _not_ your assistant, anymore, Dirk, you promoted me, remember?’ but he hadn’t and Dirk hates that.

It’s been half a year - maybe, he’s not actually entirely sure, really - since the whole mess with the Circle and the Door and Nor- well, _everything else_ , and everyone’s still walking on eggshells around him. They’ve had five cases since then, successfully solved with little to no complications - lie; they were all terribly complicated and unnecessarily convoluted, but it’s not like that’s anything new - and Dirk’s been completely _fine_.

He doesn’t understand why everyone thinks he’s messed up about it that they’ve got to be far too _nice_ to him. He misses their banter, misses their jokes and their teasing, and no matter how much he needles Todd, or Farah - even Martin, for goodness’s sake - no one has said anything angry or light-heartedly mocking to him yet. The Rowdies haven’t even tried to feed on him _once_ in the past 3 times that Amanda’s come to visit Todd.

Dirk just wants everything to be like they were before all the stuff had happened, but he’s got no idea how to make that happen.

Only Priest has been himself, but Priest isn’t always around.

After they’d left the mountain that night and returned to the hotel in Boulder City, Priest had held Dirk in bed for days. Dirk had to admit, he’d been too far gone in his own head to function normally - or as normal as he usually is - and he hadn’t been the most cooperative when his friends had tried to talk to him. It had been Priest that had knocked some sense into him, eventually - somewhat literally, too, in fact - and Dirk had appreciated that more than he could say.

But they’d both agreed they couldn’t stay together; Dirk needed the freedom of solving his cases and Priest had to do whatever awful things that the Universe wanted him to do, which Dirk very adamantly did not - _does_ not - want to see nor know about. They hadn’t _broken up_ , not by any conventional standards - as if their relationship is anything _conventional_ , anyway - but they both had known they needed space from each other. Not to mention, Blackwing’s now after the both of them, and Priest had reasoned that staying together would pose a greater risk of getting abducted.

(They are also a constant reminder to each other of Norton - but they don’t talk about _that_ , ever)

Dirk’s friends were more than relieved to be free of Priest’s presence, anyway, which, _fair enough_.

Priest comes by the agency every few weeks or so, and spends a night with Dirk before leaving again in the morning, and it’s enough for them. They’re both terrible texters, so their nights together mostly consist of talking about what had been happening to them in their time apart. That, or simply holding each other in silence until they fell asleep.

They haven’t _done_ anything since- since back then. Dirk doesn’t _want_ to, and Priest had never asked.

It hasn’t felt right, not without- without-

It doesn’t bear thinking about, and Dirk sighs loudly through his nose.

“Have you spoken to Amanda recently?” he asks offhandedly.

“Amanda?” Todd echoes, and Dirk glances at him to see him scowling at the road. “No? Define ‘recently’? Because the last time I got a text from her was five days ago and it was a picture of Vogel climbing a tree with Lulu sitting on his head.”

Todd makes a face like he’s not quite sure he believes what’s coming out of his own mouth, and Dirk smiles fondly at it.

“That sounds like _fun_ ,” he remarks, and Todd shoots Dirk a disapproving look out of the corner of his eyes, refusing to look away completely from the road.

“It looked _dangerous_ ,” Todd corrects him. “But I’m not the one that can fly, so.”

“I wish _I_ could fly,” Dirk sighs wistfully. “It’s a whole lot faster than taking _trains_.”

“You know it’d be easier for Blackwing to find you if you tried to board a plane, Dirk,” Todd reminds him in a wry tone that implies he’s said this several times before.

“I’m not quite sure what’s stopping them from finding me when the agency literally has my name all over the building, anyway,” Dirk say, rolling his eyes. “Mr. Priest knew exactly where I was when he found me the last time, with N-” he stops abruptly when he realizes what he’d been about to say, and purses his lips, frowning at the dashboard in front of him.

“Ken’s smart,” Todd says quickly, and Dirk can feel his concerned glance like it’s slapping him in the face. “They can’t actually just attack you in broad daylight, that’s kidnapping, and they don’t have anything to arrest you for, either. Besides, he’s probably scared of Bart.”

“He’s not the only one,” Dirk mumbles with a wince and a shudder. “She tried to teach me how to stab someone dead with one strike last week.”

“She’s not all bad,” Todd says reasonably. “She still hasn’t tried to kill you anymore, at least.”

“Yes, very reassuring,” Dirk says dryly. “I’ll be sure to send her a gift basket as a thank you for not attempting to murder me.”

“You love having her there, admit it,” Todd shoots back, and Dirk knows without looking that he’s rolling his eyes. “Why did you ask about Amanda, anyway?”

Dirk shrugs, answering simply, “Just a hunch.”

“Seriously, _another_ case?” Todd asks, sounding exasperated. “We’re about to go on _holiday_ , Dirk.”

“It might _not_ be, Todd,” Dirk says defensively. “Perhaps the Universe just wanted to know how Amanda is doing.”

Todd stops the car, and turns in his seat to level an incredibly flat stare in his direction.

“I’m going to pretend you didn’t say that and politely request that you ask the Universe to fuck off,” he says in a deadpan.

Dirk makes a face, throwing his hands out in exasperation as Todd then undoes his seatbelt and gets out of the car.

“I can’t tell the Universe what to do, Todd, you know that,” Dirk says exasperatedly as he scrambles to get out of the car, too, struggling for a bit when he realizes that he’d forgotten to unbuckle his seatbelt first.

“Yeah, but it’s just for _three_ days,” Todd says as he gets the duffel bag from the back seats and slams the door shut a little more violently than necessary. “We’ve been going from case to case, back to back, for _six months_ , Dirk. Can’t we have _three_ days where we don’t have to _do_ anything?”

The train station is empty when they enter it, save for an old man in a corner of the seats in the waiting area and the employee behind the one counter that’s open. Dirk plops himself in one of the uncomfortable metal seats and looks up at the TV that’s mounted on one wall of the waiting space. Todd follows him at a slower pace, dumping his duffel on the seat next to Dirk’s as he puts his phone up to his ear.

Dirk ignores him, noticing that the TV is turned to the news, and the reporter is saying something about multiple sightings of a ‘monster’ that’s been terrorizing a small town in the outskirts of Seattle. Dirk winces, knowing exactly who she’s talking about, and glances up at Todd.

Todd doesn’t notice, now talking on his phone.

“Yeah, train leaves in twenty minutes,” he’s saying. “Yeah, I’ve got the tick- what? Of course I locked the front door, Farah, how old do you think we- _yes_ , the car, too, what the hell. That was _one_ time!”

The news changes to another reporter, someone dressed like a proper business woman and standing in front of an imposing office building. Dirk can’t quite hear what she’s saying, but his eyes widen in shock and his blood freezes in his veins when he sees the headlines reading-

“Blackwing?” he mutters aloud, reaching up blindly to grab at Todd next to him.

“What is it, Dirk?” Todd asks him distractedly before saying, “What? No, he’s just being himself. Nothing happened-”

“Todd,” Dirk hisses, tearing his eyes away from the TV to glare up at Todd.

Todd pulls the phone away and glares back at him, asking, “What, Dirk?” in an exasperated tone.

“Look!” Dirk says, pointing over at the TV.

Todd looks at it with an annoyed look on his face, but it’s quickly replaced by shock and disbelief.

“No _fucking_ way,” he mutters before he says, a bit louder, into his phone, “Farah, I’ll call you back, okay?” before hanging up.

“It’s not just my imagination, then?” Dirk asks rhetorically, looking over at the TV, too.

**_CIA ANNOUNCES NEW YOUTH OUTREACH PROGRAMME ‘PROJECT BLACKWING’ FOR TROUBLED TEENS_ **

Dirk rises from his seat and walks closer to the TV, his eyes glued to it the whole way. He knows without looking that Todd’s following behind him.

Up close, Dirk can finally hear what the woman is saying, and it’s no less worrying than the threatening headlines.

 _“... unprecedented positive reception from the public. But what_ is _Blackwing and why now? Supervisor Ken Adams has been kind enough to give SNBS an exclusive, one-on-one interview with one of Blackwing’s top agents, and the face of the new project, Agent Svlad Cjelli.”_

Dirk’s heart races in his chest, and he looks away from the TV screen to Todd, who’s looking back at him with shock and alarm, and he knows he hadn’t been hearing things, either.

Dread is pulling in his gut, and Todd’s phone rings at the same time Dirk looks away from him and back at the TV, and then he doesn’t hear anything at all. It’s like someone had pressed a pause button as a deafening roar of silence rings through Dirk’s ears, and his mind goes completely blank and his breath stops short in his throat as he sees an impossible face appearing next to the reporter.

Blonde and familiar, wearing a grey turtleneck under a black blazer and _glasses_ , like he’s Clark freaking Kent, and he looks _healthy_ , if not thinner than Dirk remembers.

But most importantly, he looks _alive_.

Dirk staggers backwards like he’d been hit, and sound comes rushing back to him like a harsh ocean wave, and there’s no mistaking that _voice_.

 _“To be frank, Ms. Kane, I’m not here to speculate on the why’s or the how’s. I’ve been given specific orders to speak of one thing, and_ one _thing only. I’ve a message to deliver.”_

The face smiles warmly at the reporter, like it’s about to share some profound piece of knowledge.

 _“And what_ is _that message, Agent Cjelli?”_ the reporter asks in a curious voice, one brow raised.

The face turns towards the camera, its eyes boring into Dirk’s like they know he’s watching, and Dirk makes a choked, strangled sound of disbelief.

 _“We believe that every individual has something to offer,”_ it says sincerely. _“And every individual is_ special _. The message I’m sending is this; to all these special individuals that feel like they do not belong anywhere. Blackwing will find you, and we will give you direction; a purpose. You belong with_ us _, and we will leave no stone unturned in our mission to help you.”_

“Yeah, he’s right here, Priest,” Dirk faintly hears Todd say next to him as the TV pans out from the face to show the reporter.

_“That’s a very strong message you have there, Agent Cjelli. Am I correct to assume that the CIA is trying to reach out to troubled teens and recruit them into the agency?”_

_“To put it simply, yes. There’s no guarantee that they’ll turn out to be agents, of course. However, we do believe that with the proper guidance, everyone can contribute to society in a productive manner. There are no fees nor conditions besides your willing participation, so there’s really nothing to lose.”_

_“That’s impressively altruistic of the CIA.”_

_“I prefer the term_ practical _, darling, but to each their own.”_

_“Well, thank you for your time, Agent Cjelli. It’s definitely shed some light on the mysteri-”_

Dirk startles violently when he feels a heavy hand on his shoulder, almost screaming in fear, but it’s just Todd.

“Whoa, it’s me, Dirk,” Todd says quickly, letting go of him and raising his hands in front of him. He holds one out towards Dirk, his phone in it, and cautiously says, “It’s Priest. He wants to talk to you.”

Dirk grabs the phone immediately, bringing it up to his ear.

“You saw him, too?” he asks in a rush, his words almost jumbling together unintelligibly.

“ _Fucking live_ ,” Priest growls, his voice distorted from bad reception.

“What’s happening, Oz?” Dirk asks frantically, clutching at his head with his other hand, his fingers tugging at strands of his hair in a nervous gesture. “How is this possible? How is he alive? _Why is he with Blackwing_?”

“ _Breathe, Dirk_ ,” Priest says firmly. “ _One at a time. Just like I taught you._ ”

Dirk keens in the back of his throat, but bites down on his bottom lip and takes a deep, shaky breath through his nose.

“ _Better_?” Priest asks after a moment.

“Not even a little,” Dirk tells him, looking up at the TV. It’s a different reporter this time, talking about sports, and Dirk closes his eyes, forcing himself to take another breath before he asks weakly, “What’s _happening_ , Oz?”

“ _No fuckin’ clue_ ,” Priest answers, frustration palpable in his voice. “ _But we’re gonna find out. Where are you_?”

“At the train station,” Dirk says, opening his eyes again. “We- Todd and I were headed for Bergsberg to meet Farah and Tina and Hobbs.”

“ _I’ll meet you there_ ,” Priest says immediately. “ _Stay away from crowds and try not to stand out. Everyone’s gonna recognize you._ ”

Dirk makes a strangled sound, realizing that he’s right. He’s going to need to get a _disguise_. Even with Nor- _Agent Cjelli’s_ blonde hair, they’re still identical, and if even Priest has seen the news, there’s no telling how many thousands of others have, too.

“Okay,” Dirk breathes out. “Okay, alright, I’ll- I’ll find a cap, or something, and sunglasses. That’s what rock stars always use, right? It works for them.”

“ _It’s good enough_ ,” Priest tells him reassuringly. “ _Stay with Todd. And get Farah to pick you up from the station. Don’t drive._ ”

“Why?” Dirk asks nervously. “What happens if we drive?”

“ _Nothing, probably, but if Todd gets an attack while you’re the way you are right now, you might not get to Hobbs in one piece_ ,” Priest replies dryly.

“Ah,” Dirk says. “Right, that makes sense.”

“ _I have to make a stop before I can head for Montana_ ,” Priest adds grudgingly. “ _Don’t get into any trouble, you got me_?”

“I’ll try,” Dirk says weakly. Instinctively, he adds, “I love you.”

“ _I love you, too, Dirk_ ,” Priest says softly, barely audible, and then he hangs up, and there’s only silence.

Dirk grips the phone tighter in his hand before he pulls it away and passes it back to Todd, who’s watching him warily.

“You okay?” he asks before cringing. “Sorry, stupid question.”

Dirk shakes his head, managing to give him a small, forced smile.

“I’m scared, Todd,” he confesses, and Todd makes a face before enveloping him in a hug that he returns gratefully.

“We’ll figure out what’s going on,” Todd promises as they part, a determined look on his face.

“I thought,” Dirk starts, pausing to swallow the lump forming in his throat before he continues, unsteadily, “I thought he was dead.”

Todd frowns sympathetically, cautiously asking, “So, it _is_ him? It’s-?”

“It’s Norton,” Dirk says, choking on the name. It feels like forever since he’s said it out loud and it still _hurts_.

“Fuck,” Todd says succinctly, and Dirk winces in agreement.

“Fuck,” he agrees.

“I really hate the Universe right now,” Todd says with a tired sigh.

Dirk nods, and swallows again before asking, “Do you know where we can get a cap and a pair of sunglasses?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hiiii.
> 
> Thank you for reading this behemoth I made out of nowhere for no good reason other than I wanted to indulge myself. I'm sorry if it's upset you, or if the ending isn't what you'd expected. Thank you for reading, anyway. And _yes_ , this _is_ the end.
> 
> There might be a sequel, there might be not. I don't want to get anyone's hopes up. If I have the time, I _will_ write one, but as it is, seems like the sequel isn't finished, either. Ahaha? Anyway, it's been an exhausting and exciting ride, and if you're reading this, I sincerely hope you'd enjoyed yourself along the way. Also, I haven't edited the last few chapters, so if there are any errors, I'll get to them later when I'm more awake.
> 
> On a final note; I love these boys, but I love angst so much more. Just wanted to say that. 
> 
> Anyway, thanks again for reading. See you in the ~~sequel~~ next fic! :)
> 
> PS: I am unashamed of the blatant, drastic change of character in any of them because I firmly believe that the angst excuses everything :X. Not really, but omg, I am seriously too tired to do re-writes right now. =n=ll

**Author's Note:**

> So, after accidentally discovering DGHDA and binge-watching it instead of working like I was supposed to, I found out that there's no season 3. I subsequently rushed through the 7 stages of grief (actually, I think there's 10, but sources differ), I started looking for other things Samuel Barnett has been in (because I'm unhealthy like that) and voila! I found audio dramas. _Quite a few_ audio dramas. And of course, because #everythingisconnected, a few of them happened to be _Torchwood_ audio dramas.
> 
> Suffice to say, I died. And was revived. And now I've listened to [Ghost Mission](https://www.bigfinish.com/releases/v/ghost-mission-1391) and [Goodbye Piccadilly](https://www.bigfinish.com/releases/v/goodbye-piccadilly-1708) an unhealthy amount of times, and obviously because Torchwood is canonically set in the same world as DGHDA (supposedly; both are tied to Douglas Adams, so yeah, #fiteme about this), I've been urged by the Universe to put Norton in the same room as Dirk. Because _why the fuck not_.
> 
> ANYWAY. I digress. I love Norton to bits, he's like that sassy gay uncle that tells you all the stupid shit you shouldn't have done with your boyfriend and gives you a shot of whiskey to help you find the courage to do more stupid shit. Or something. Idk, I'm just stuck on the fact that during the after-show interview, they mentioned that Norton was written _specifically_ for Samuel, and I just died. Again. The man lives to kill me.
> 
> So, yeah, this will probably end badly, but fuck it.
> 
> PS: The title is from KNGDVD - Poppies which I personally cannot help but think fits Dirk and Priest's relationship in my headcanon. Also, check out Kodaline - Follow Your Fire, too, if you haven't, and tell me that's not Priest serenading Dirk. ~~Yes, I'm aware I have a problem, fuck me, I have a Spotify Playlist for this threesome, wtf.~~


End file.
